Fate: Heroicis Unitum
by betweenthetights
Summary: Sometimes, the hardest part about being alive is truly living: but when destiny knocks, a life beyond simple existence emerges for us all. A basic one-shot that was asked to be expanded. Encompasses characters from several Fate storylines
1. Preface

They asked me a lot of questions, saying it was "in my best interest" to answer in full and complete sentences. As I lie here tied down to this painfully sterile hospital bed, they tell me they "want to help."

Tell us, and we will help you

Bullshit. Even if I could, I wouldn't tell the likes of you.

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Then again, I'm here for a reason, just like you are.

A friend of mine once said something about how Fate draws our names from a fat ol' hat in this fat ol' universe, stirring us around and signing us up for whatever struggles the wheel lands on that day. Then, bam: we're squeezed out, naked (of all things), into the violent world. If _my_ reason to breathe is to tell someone like _you_ – someone I have never met before and someone I will likely never see again – my crap-tastic story, then so be it.

These doctors think they know me. They think they know what they need to say and do to make me better. To hell with you all. I've seen some shit in the last week, and I'm not about to be defined by some crackers with badges.

_Who brought you here? How did you get here? Did you walk? Crawl? Take a cab? Where have you been for the last twenty-four hours? Who were you with? What were they wearing? How tall were they? How many of them were there? _

_Did they harm you in any other way than… this? Did you recognize them? Were their any women involved? Where they from this area? Where did they hide you? Did you fight back?_

_Do you have any idea who those people were?_

Well, kind sir, yes and no. I know they were heroes in their own bizarre and sometimes stupid ways, but beyond that… no. I know nothing.

"He wore red."

One was a royal pain in the ass, another a gentleman lost in time. Oh, this one was a delicate flower but he turned into a monster when he was turned on. And this other only came when I called him, which was a bit of a pain, but he did his part.

"I didn't know them."

We flew. We danced. I was carried across the world and the seven seas to all sorts of wars and devastation. I saw Egypt fall in its height and I saw the back streets of London at night. I saw the past long forgotten and I saw the future.

"I don't know how I got here."

Okay, that one was a lie.

I got here because of something I should have never, _ever_ done.

.

Alright. If we're going do this, we need to clear something up right off the bat. There are ample things in this world that you don't understand and an ass-ton more that you will never understand. Chances are you wont be a billionaire, and you'll probably never find that "true love" or whatever the hell kids are told nowadays.

But that's okay. You see, that's what defines the difference between life and _living_. You're going to be a piece of crap some days, and others someone of value to society. Every now and then you'll forget that you're alive, and every few days you'll need to be reminded that you aren't all that special.

But that's okay. That's life, and the first step to truly living is to accept that.

This is me, taking that first step.

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**I was asked by a number of people to continue the story, so this is me doing just that. The one-shot I originally wrote appears to have accumulated a lot of views and minor success, so I can only hope that I do you lot proud.**


	2. A Hero's Journey Begins

I'm pretty average by definition: average family, average height, average looks… I'm seriously a little painfully average.

Actually, I just measured myself. I'm a little below average, so screw it. I'm pretty painfully me.

"Me" is a girl that doesn't do a lot after school and doesn't do a lot _during_ school. "Me" is a chick who's got a solid eight friends, a fetish for collecting crap, and a poor grasp of magic. I guess in that sense I'm a little unusual, but its hard to tell who knows magic and who doesn't in today's world. I heard someone in the hall the other day say there's some statistic suggesting about 60% of the world knows magic on some level; and yet, everyone insists on keeping it a secret. Whatever.

I can't say I literally _know_ magic – I've never actually picked up a specialty book or anything – but I _can_ do a thing or two that you probably can't. I can heighten my senses to nit-pick at details – seeing, smelling, touching, you name it. With a little concentration and a deep breath, I can hear a raccoon scurry in the neighbor's garbage at night. Sometimes if I'm lucky, a teacher will place a test's answer key on their desk in front of them and [seemingly] out of range of prying eyes: all I have to do is focus and squint. I'm sure it could actually be of use if I want it to be, and I'm positive it could be used by some squares out there for good or bad or whatever, but for now its helping me get through school. I get up, I go to school, I go home, and I do nothing. That's my schedule, day in and out. Pretty uninteresting if you ask me.

But I'm good at it, this nothing. I can cram a lot of crap into one day if I try hard enough, but the, that requires energy. Most of the time I pass off opportunities like a horse's tail swatting at flies: I couldn't care less.

There's something about opportunities that catch the eye. They light a spark in the heart, and sometimes can seriously take over. Some opportunities become lifelong dedications, and some flicker back out of sight, again like the flies. All I know is, well, hell… nothing much.

But you can't let an opportunity pass you by. Not when you've got the world at your feet.

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Things first changed on a late Tuesday night. My two brothers were home from college for a few weeks (don't ask me why) and Mom insisted that we all sit down to dinner together. Dad had the paper in front of him (again, I don't know why he does this at dinner – I'm pretty dang sure you're supposed to read the news in the morning) and my Mom had the tv on. My brothers weren't keen on conversation, so we sat there and stared at the poorly illuminated screen. Dad put down the papers when the news got serious.

You see, a few years back there was a pretty bad incident in town. I was too young to remember much of it, and it was a pretty fat mess. What I do remember is the massive move to rebuild and to "innovate the younger generation." Whenever its brought up, which it infrequently is, Dad puts the blame on the phone companies. It fits the notion of inspiring kids pretty well, since he ends the conversation every time with a "so when you move into construction since you're failing high school, you'll know not to repeat their mistakes" note. Kinda dick-ish of him if you ask me.

But tonight was different. People were falling all across town to some disease, and the doctors couldn't find a damn nickel on the bug. Not a thing! They pulled apart two unnamed victims to the illness, and even then they couldn't find the cause. That's what this segment is on – the valor of those two, the courage to allow the doctors to dissect their bodies. We're supposed to honor them now, like heroes or something. My second brother huffs, and my Dad folds the paper.

"What? Its not like they expected to find something. Those two died and that's a real stinker, but they're strangers to us. I don't see why we have to-"

I cut him off as I chomp unnecessarily at my broccoli. "Shut up, dickwad."

"Whoa, shots fired." It was my ever-so-slightly older brother who spoke. I glare at him from across the table, and he shrugs. "Just because we dont know someone doesn't mean they don't count for shit." Our eldest brother, the calm one with the glasses and stereotypical nerd demeanor, was the one to shut us both up. "You guys need to quit it. This is serious business, respect that."

My mom nods silently like she always does and always will, head bobbing obediently like the dog she is. Its here that my dad put down the paper. His tight eyes and ass glare at his second son. "Hiro, there is no need for you to speak with so little reguard. Do not speak when you do not know what you're talking about."

"But none of us know whats going on! Who are these reporters anyway? Its not like they understand whats going on – what was the actual cause of death, hmmm? Why don't they show the bodies from anyone? I get it with the dismantled people, but really? Come on, you have to admit that something fishy is going on here. Its clear we aren't getting the full story."  
"I agree with you in that sense," our eldest brother again pipes up. "Mother Nature leaves a trail behind when working her magic on us. These are seemingly unassociated events leading to unassociated deaths, even my professors can't tie together a probable cause of all of this."

"Wait, really?" He's going into biomedical something-or-other, I'd imagine the professors in the top university in Japan would catch wind of this situation and slap a label on it. He looks down at me through those damn glasses.

"Yeah. The disease is concentrated in our area only, so we can rule out the food supply as the cause. The freshwater also runs through to neighboring towns, but its not reaching them. It's not the air, since its not contained to a particular region on any means. The way illness works is similar to a mosquito; it leaves a trace or mark, something to signify where it came from." He cups his chin. "But here, nothing has been reported as a cause or significant chink in the armor, if I may use the expression. No one knows whats going on, or who will be impacted next."

"Well," Dad pulls at the pork with his knife. "This area has seen enough devastation. Whatever the cause is, I want it dealt with. We don't need any more crazy around these parts scaring away what little business and tourism we have, it's bad for the economy."

I think if he knew what was coming next, he would have rephrased himself a little bit.

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**As per always, reviews are sincerely appreciated.**


	3. Doors

What happened roughly fifteen years ago went down without a lot of fireworks – Mom and Dad keep saying that there was nothing leading to the gas pipe explosion. Nothing led to it, but about 76.3% of the people died? I don't quite get where the ".3" comes from since we're talking about people here, but that's a _lot_ of people. The explosion's epicenter was about a quarter mile in diameter alone, and the mess took out nearly the entire city. We're no Tokyo, but we hit the international headlines, and since then our city's been nothing but a curse mark on the world.

We live on the outskirts of town, just beyond reach of the blast. A lot of things nowadays are timelined based on that critical point for us – everything was either _before_ the blast or _after_. For some people, what happened before the pipeline went skyhigh faded away; a lot of us were so wrapped up in our own little worlds. For others… well, the 'after' didn't actually come. Suicide rates went skyhigh as well, and some said the funeral services were too slow to keep up with the pace.

I've been thinking about all of this since dinner last night. We _are_ getting close to the anniversary after all, and it's a sour thing to think about. Its death personified on a calendar, and what are we supposed to do about it? Look at the date and be totally okay with it? Oh no, we're supposed to talk about our feelings about something I barely experienced. Sure, like I'd sign up for that.

I can't stand calendars partly because of stupid things like this; all they are is reminders about the past. Reminders of lives that never breathed and all the monstrosities of devastation. Every now and then we have a holiday which cheers up the kids and gives the parents a reason to spend their money, but at the end of the day, the calendar's just a cycle like everything else. The world will turn no matter how many people die, and the death will continue, day in and day out.

"Hashimoto!"

I mean, what would those kids have sounded like? What kinds of lives were they gonna live?

"Hashimoto!"  
I reluctantly turn from the window, head in hand to catch my boredom in an open palm. I rest my eyes briefly on the clock above my teacher's head and flicker back to him. "Yeah?"  
"Class is over."

"Yeah." I heave my backpack over my shoulder (its not like I actually had anything out on my desk) and snap a peace sign at the man. In moments, I'm at the door.

I could practically see his body collapse a little as he sighed in frustration behind me. "Hashimoto, wait."

I do, but don't turn around – God, that would take a whole lot of effort that I don't have. Lets not do this right now, Mr. Watanabe.

"Hashimoto, you need to figure out what you're doing with your life. I've seen your problem, and you know it as well as I do." I turn ever so slightly, _daring_ him to keep going; he sees me sidestep in his direction, and hesitates under my glare.

If magic could shut a man up, we'd live in one _hell_ of a better world.

But he's such a fool. That's why I don't care for this class – its not that I don't like history, its decent enough, but the teacher… that's another story. He's a joke.

"You're problem is that you think you don't have the mental capacity. I know you do, there's not a doubt in my mind that you know what you can do." He picked up his chin and shifted his broad glasses further up the short bridge of his idiotic nose. "Give the act a rest, and give yourself some credit. Put your back into your schoolwork now, and doors can still open for you in the future. Its not too late for you." He steps closer to me and folds his stubborn arms across his broadening chest. How much weight has he gained in the last half-year? 10? No, twelve? I bet it's thirteen. I wonder what his beef is.

"Hashimoto, you have the potential to do something amazing with this world. Show us all that you're aren't another empty face."

I pause. Do I care, or do I not? That's the question of the goddammed year.

With a shrug, I yank my backpack higher up my shoulder. "Who's watching me? Besides, you've seen the person I am. There isn't much there." I cast a glance and, to much to my surprise, see a small smile on his face.

"You only say that because you haven't figured yourself out yet, and you aren't giving yourself the chance to figure yourself out." He turns around and pages through some papers on his desk before waltzing back over to me, half-assed. "Its not too late, Hashimoto. Everyone feels stuck at some point in their life, here's your chance to overcome it."

I stare at his extended hand; its pretty poetic, if you think about it. Him, my sensei, extending a hand to a fool like me. It's not a movie, Watanabe. Things don't just happen. Life isn't all that magical.

Yeah, it's pretty picturesque.

I raise my eyes to him.

And I walk out that door.

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**Starting to pick up steam. I just wanted you to know our little angel a little better.**

**As per always, I love those reviews! Remember, I'm doing this for you guys!**


	4. Rückkenrunruhe

_I'm not stubborn_, I muse stubbornly to myself, _I'm just being realistic. _

Those families that lost their kids and loved ones don't get a movie dedicated to their struggles. Hell, they're still struggling. It's been how many years, and the homeless population is still _how_ high? Wanna change the world, Watanabe-sensei? Find a way to save those people, I'm not important.

You don't just fall in love. You don't just hit a lightbulb swinging outside and find your destiny; destiny is nothing but a fat word white men through around when they didn't have anything else to philosophize about. That's it. Don't lie to yourself.

And think about it. How many people are alive today? How many people have lived all-together, in the timespan of mankind? Too many to count, if you ask me. This overpopulation problem is really getting on my nerves.

And of all of those people, past, present, and future, how many are going to have their names remembered? Are going to actually contribute to society? A dozen? A hundred? What's the ratio then, one-to-one-billion? Why bother caring if its not going to happen.

I sigh and gaze out across the neighborhood. Classmates are all over the place, crawling and guffawing at every little thing like scattered ants. Some wave at me, and I walk on.

That's all, isn't it? We're all just walking forward and backward and sideways and inside out. We just walk on and on until we can't walk, then we have some poor sap push us around.

That's life. Its hell. Its hell waiting to happen, and here we are, pretending everything's okay.

I could'ov sworn that on a Wednesday most people head out to do stuff… you know, things that friends _do_. But instead they're all milling around my neighborhood. Of all the places, you choose this? Seriously you guys, life must be boring if there's something going on _over here_.

I try sauntering past – the shoreline isn't all too far away – but my curiosity gets the better of me. I pause at the corner of my street and lean on the post to my right. If I can… can stretch… can stretch my senses just _far enough_…

At first, all I can hear is the insects crawling in the hedge beside me. Then, the sound of cars whistling by turns into screams. With every expanse I poor into my ears, a little strength is pulled from everything else. My feet and hands grow numb, and I can no longer feel my nose.

But now its people – _yes_, _I can hear their voices!_ – that fill my inner ear. Excited heart rates and hands wringing backpack straps echo around me, but that's not what I want. Sorry, but I'm a snooper: I want to know what those preps are talking about… if only I could… hear them _better_…

"Oh god, it looks like it was just a little while ago."

"I heard the victim is the brother of someone at school."

"Oh god, that sucks."

"Its weird though, the last time a killer was in town was, like, fifteen, sixteen years ago. What brought this on?"

Oh gosh. It looks like someone did something stupid, _again_. I totally get it if you're having problems with your life, but honestly? Don't go dragging others into it. That's just selfish. I hone my ears a little harder to expand my hearing beyond those girls. Farther… farther… and I can hear an officer's car was left running.

Odd, it's almost near-

"Who's going to tell her? Did someone call her from school? She looks a little sick."

"Well, I'm not telling her. She's weird."

"Come on you guys, she doesn't look okay."

"Leave her be, we gotta go anyway. It's sad but its not the end of the world."

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

_Oh my god._

"Hashimoto?"

I tear my eyes open, senses rearranged back to their natural ways. I drop as I flash-flood myself with my senses again, and kind hands reach down to catch me.

But I catch myself, and I blindly stare my company down.

No.

No.

No! No nononononononononono! This isn't happening!

"Hashimoto-chan, are you okay?"

Oh god. My eyes feel fuzzy. I see nothing but stars.

She leans me against the post, to which I cling to for life.

Why is this happening?!

"Hashimoto-chan, why don't we sit do-"

She doesn't finish, or I don't hear her. Its one of the two, and_ I don't care which._

This isn't happening, not to me. I don't remember running, but I can feel my feet pounding against the ground. I don't remember dropping my backpack, but the only thing I can feel on my back is the wind blowing my further and faster up the hill to my house. I can feel my lungs shriveled and weak like a newborn's, ready to bawl my eyes out but physically unable to.

That run took forever, and yet not long enough. My arms pump furiously beside me.

Someone reaches out to grab me, to stop me, but they can't. I might have punched them, or I might have simply broken free of their grasp.

I can hear several people saying things, but none of them make sense. They don't register to my ears.

"Don't let her in there!"

"Who let her past the barricades?"

"Does she live here? Grab that girl!"

None of their buzz registers with me; the only true sound is my blood bleeding from my ears.

I freeze when I enter my home, my vandalized home. I stop in the doorway because that was more than close enough.

I see red. I see nothing but red staining my mom's stupid Persian rug. There's red on the walls, all over Dad's stupid awards. There's some red on the damn plant in the corner, and the ceiling. Everything is red. Everything is stupid, _stupid_ red.

I fall. I don't remember hitting the ground.

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* * *

**Originally, this was a one-shot with Archer from Fate/Stay Night Unlimited Blade Works. **

**I now have the entire plot outlined and detailed. I've spent a lot of time on this, and I originally thought this was going to be a drag to write. **

**Oh, how wrong I've been :). Things are picking up, and you'll be seeing some familiar faces soon. _So please, stick around and comment as well as contact me!_ (For easiest contact I suggest Tumblr) Enjoy!**


	5. Wednesdays

They act like some hot chocolate is going to change something. Bullcrapshitbitchin' hell. Hot chocolate can't bring Takao back.

I was in the back of an ambulance when I woke up, and I started screaming. The police officer and medic beside me panicked – apparently, it was the cop's forth day on the job – and they shot me with some sleepy-time tea in drug form.

When I woke up next, Mom was beside me, and the officer was outside of my sterile room. It's so whitewashed, I can't stand the color anymore. No more red, no more white. No more colors, _please_. Mom lifted her tired head and weary eyes when she heard me shuffle under my sheets, but smiled on eye contact. "Oh thank God you're okay. Oh, ohohoh… oh, hello sweetie, please don't get up."

I wanted to ask what happened, you know? … how I got there, who pulled this prank, what happened to normal Wednesdays… that sort of stuff. But I couldn't. I knew the answers, and no matter how desperately I wanted to hear someone tell me a lie, I couldn't stomach something so bitter. So I looked at her, praying she would deny this afternoon's mayhem.

My mother has never been very good with words, neither lies or truths, if you ask me. She's so used to being told to stay silent that she now falls back on that.

It's a puppy told not to play with the other dogs; when its older, tail full-length, ears excited and ready for the world, it will quiver at the park and whimper at home. My mother is nothing but a dog now, and I am a byproduct of her domestication. That is where I come from, and that is where I will fall.

I can't cry – it may be because my tears simply wont work. My mother jumped up as Dad walked in, a coffee in one hand, a hot chocolate in the other. "Hiro is in the lounge." He turned to my mother, "Please fetch him here." She left in haste, leaving my dad twisted around to stare at the doorframe to the outside world. I could see the officer jump slightly at my hustling mother, and he must have made eye contract with Dad, because he flinched back into his standstill post outside my room.

He wouldn't look at me – my own father – so my chin fell to my chest. I curled my hands tightly and kept bowed as he sighed. Dad set the hot chocolate on the bed stand beside me, and yet we made no effort to look at each other. The room's stark whiteness danced a little beyond the steam rising from the drink.

"Do they have any idea?" I whispered somewhat aggressively.

"No. Not yet."

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The silence lingered. If only the steam from my plastic cup would carry me away… if only.

* * *

We spent some time talking about what happened and how we felt. Hiro was pissed and vocalized himself as he usually does while I sat head down in my uncomfortable hospital bed. Mom cried, Hiro teared up, and Dad hardly looked at us.

My brother, their son, was murdered in our own house. This wasn't supposed to happen – maybe to someone else in the world, maybe to some random asshole, but to Takao? No, he didn't deserve this. _I_ don't deserve this! He doesn't deserve this, its still… it is still some lameass prank!

Mom kept going on about how he was going to change the world. Believe it or not, but my eldest brother was the kindest of the three of us, and the smartest by a landslide. He was meant to be a doctor, he was going to cure cancer. He was going to fall in love with a beautiful woman and have a long, happy life with my nieces and nephews. He was going to go down in the history books, and goddammit he was too good for this world!

I can't stomach this truth, I want to throw up.

I want to burn myself, I want to burn down this building.

I want to take someone by the shoulders and shake them until reality spills from their ears.

But no: I sit here, fat tears falling on to my curled firsts.

How am I supposed to go on? Its not like I've ever been worth anything… if my brother, the best person out there, was handed this, then what's in store for a walking mistake like _me_? This life's not worth the effort.

A somewhat elderly officer came in after we had a few hours to ourselves. He wasn't kind-eyed, nor gentle. He was gruff and tough, worn away by the harsh tide of reality.

I wonder how many dead people he's seen.

"It's a singular event, Sir," He says after greeting my parents and saying _how_ _dearly sorry for us_ he is. "Based on the crime scene, we can't tie this to any other murders out there. We have a few questions for you and your family if you can handle it, then some more paperwork that needs to be filled out."

"Its not a crime scene." I butt in furiously, still head down. I think my family was startled by my outlash, but they did nothing to comfort me. I could hear my mom's sigh a million miles away as loud as a hurricane ripping through my heart.

I keep going, head down, voice barely audible. "That's my brother you're talking about. That's my brother in my home… that's _my_ _home_ you're talking about."

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* * *

We weren't allowed back in our house until late that night; it didn't seem to matter much anyway, since the interviews and questions didn't seem to end. All these "Do you know anyone who might" or "do you know if Takao had any enemies" or "where were you at 2 PM today" simply boiled my blood. At one point, the inquisitor took a pause to draw a breath, and I hissed at him from my sterile, white bed. "How dare you think like this, how dare you think that he would provoke anyone to do this! How dare you think that we did this! He's my brother, goddammit!" But they kept going, on and on, circling one another with their stupid questions.

We got home, the tape still up. People walked by with whispers on their lips, but no one came to our door. They might have been simply too afraid. I would have been.

That front room was spotless. There was nothing on the walls or the ground or the windows. Everything had been sterilized, as if the entire day was nothing but a fantasy. Mom's stupid Persian rug was gone, and the county was going to pay for a new one for us. As if some new, fat-ass rug was going to bring my brother back to me. It's like the goddammed hot chocolate.

Well, almost everything was clean. I couldn't sleep – I don't think anyone could – and was wandering around the house at the dead of night.

There were no colors. There were no ghosts, no spirits to greet me. No friend or family member to walk me back to my room, like how Takao used to find me when we were little.

But there _was_ color. On the coffee table to the right of the sofa was a family picture, all five of us, some laughing, some smiling, as we perched at the top of Mount Fuji. Hiro had his arms around Takao and me, squeezing us into a death-grip at our necks. I was turned half-way, my smile sharply morphing into a barking order at my idiotic brother. Takao had his eyes closed, the effort of smiling too much for his face to hold everything at once.

His eyes _were_ closed.

The color, that forbidden shade that the officers worked so diligently to wash away from our lives, was on his face in the picture.

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* * *

**I'm actually on cruise control right now with this story, and since I want to get back to my other two fanfics I'm going to update a little more regularly for now. **

**I'm not all that happy about how this turned out, so if you feel the same, I'm sorry. But transitions are required and patients is a virtue n_n***

**I think it's either two or three more updates until we actually get the action going. So hang tight, and please enjoy! As always, questions, comments, and complaints are welcomed and loved!**


	6. Broken Statues

Neither Hiro no I have been to school for a few days. We sit in our rooms like broken statues as Mom and Dad fight to get through the days. We don't really talk much – not as a family – nor do we sit down for dinner. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself. I don't think I've ever really known.

Four days after… well, _it_, Mom called Hiro and I into Takao's room. It had always been so stereotypical; a colorless blue, four-squared room void of imagination, a bed tucked away to the right with a brown comforter, and a heavy layer of dust settled on his chiffarobe. Sneakers, easily four-million years old, that altered us all to when he was going out for a periodic, silent meander through the neighborhood. The smell that radiated from those little shits used to be a major turn off, but now my eyes fall to them and I can't… I can't look away. He was never much of an athlete, but he took care of himself – that's way more than I've ever done.

A suitcase explosion to the left with his college-wear, usually packed to the brim like a tidy grandmother sending a child away for the weekend. Opposite from the doorway I stand in front of is the one window in this room. It is a bland and tasteless view, with a tree blocking most of the actual view, and beyond it a tasteless wall of our neighbor's house.

Whenever he was home, he was there. Not sleeping. Not eating. Not talking to girls. His over-cluttered desk, caked in paperwork, stray pens, and the occasional broken antique _crap_, is parked in front of that simple little stupid window. He had a thing for drifting through antique stores. I step closer to his little desk reflecting on his reason why he'd waste his money on junk like that.

It was dinner about five years ago. He just tramped home with a grandmother clock, his glasses falling down his face in his exhilaration, and I was a curious ten year old.

"Why'd you waste your allowance on that, Onii-chan?"

He almost laughed at me, his face light with the adrenaline of his excursion. Can you imagine, hard-assed Takao, laughing? Those were simpler days.

"Because," the clock fit in the palm of his hand, and he held it out, inches from my face. "To someone out there, this was special to them."

"But that doesn't make it special to you," I argued, a question lingering on my tongue.

But Takao grinned and took the block back up to his face for close inspection. "That doesn't mean I can't enjoy it for that very fact!"

It didn't make any sense to me. It still doesn't, but I remember that conversation well, since it was the first of many evenings when he'd come home with some ancient treasure. None of them would last longer than a few weeks, and every time his exuberance towards finding a new toy was as bright as the last. Clocks, necklaces, hair pins, silverwear, pocket knives, you name it; for ever old thing you'd toss out, he would run off to buy it.

That is, except for this one. When the brought it home, he took it straight up to his room instead of wiggling it in front of my face like the million times before.

I reach out for it – to hold it, the thing that he might have held – but Mom returns then and there. Some papers topple off some books and onto the little thing as Mom drops her goodies on the ground.

She just tramped back in with about a dozen cardboard boxes and a fistful of garbage bags.

"I'm tired," she declares, half-hearted and frustrated, "of this family. From here on out, things are going to change for the better." Hiro sighs and turns to walk past my mother, but she furrows her brow and moves to block his exit.

Well, now I'm intrigued. Did it take the death of her firstborn to realize she needed to grow a pair? Guess so; she's practically brimming with raw emotion right now.

She crosses her arms over her chest. "Now, your father and I are busy handling… work, among other things. The two of you will go through Takao's stuff – sort through keeps and tossers. We'll donate what we can."

We all stand silently for a moment, Hiro still furious-faced from her summoning him as he lingers just by Mom's shoulder.

He shoves his way past her and slams his bedroom door. Neither of us jump. Already this new side of Mom is getting to him – and I _get it_, its _weird_, but its… its better than nothing. I guess people really can change, given a strong enough push over a ledge.

She tries to smile at me, pleasing, almost. I turn back to the window and sit on the ground. _This is going to be extremely difficult_.

"You don't want to go through… for stuff… you wanna keep?"

I hear her pat the wall as she comforts herself. "I don't think I can."

At least one of us is being honest to ourselves.

Its not quite steep enough on the sides to be a cup, but it could pass for an old-ass teacup-cup (you know, those things in the classy china sets). Like most things in this room, there isn't much color to it; the outline of a diamond in the center is the clearest to see, since its covered in ash and dust. Brown, red, and something close to maroon, but that's it; next to the sneakers, it's the oldest thing in the room by a landslide.

I reach for it, a gleam in the smallest nook lighting up my curiosity.

On contact, I'm scorched. Lightning sears my fingertip and burns my toes; my brain cries out, jerking my hand away. It never left the desk since I couldn't pick it up, but I fall flat on my ass. A flash of red burns my eyes.

_What the hell? That bloody hurt!_

I want to crawl away, but I don't think my legs will work.

Something's at play here, but what exactly?

.

.

.

I avoid his desk at all cost due to the potential mayhem of touching that… that thing again. It takes nearly the whole evening, and Hiro grudgingly came back about two hours after his episode with Mom. There isn't a whole lot to say, so nothing's said at all. I page through Takao's closet as Hiro goes through his drawers. Occasionally, one of us will turn around and the space between us vanishes as we reflect on some trinket or adventure. As hard as it was, it was somewhat… pleasant. A release fell from my shoulders, and for the first time in what felt like eternity, the tears fell without stinging my cheeks. We laughed pretty hard, going through Takao's stuff. I almost forgot how to laugh.

Mom didn't bother calling us to lunch. She dropped off two plates at the door, smiled, and walked away.

Hiro left close to five. I stayed, even going as far as to pull out one of Takao's blankets from the crevice of his closet. It was only when I went to light a candle on his desk as the sun fell from sight did I dare sit on his seat.

Do I really want to do this? Do I really think I can go through his most personal material? His studies meant the world to him, and chances are most of this is over me.

Ah shit, are those words? Is that supposed to be English? My English was crap anyways… well, it makes sense, studying in London and all…

Wait a second.

That's German.

And… and that's French. What are all these shapes? Circle and triangles and squares? What is this, human transmutation?

Under his miscellaneous paperwork is a ratty moleskin, the cover tearing off on the top right corner.

Is this sucker glued? It won't open, goddammit!

Even though it's clearly used regularly, its got some dirt glazed on the surface.

In this instant, the relief of the last few hours has broken apart at the seams. I felt so close to him going through all of his collectables and childhood memoriums… but now… I can't help but feel sullen again. I've never felt so far from Takao before. I tug the blanket tighter around my shoulders and set the book down.

I only wish I knew him better. Maybe if I listened to him more when he was home... maybe he wouldn't have been home alone that day.

Never would I have imagined pain could open up the future: and that's precisely what happened here.

It was a trailing tear that broke the magical boundary on his moleskin. It ebbed away like a stone sinking into an indigo river, where ripples of energy cast out from the epicenter in every direction. The candle flickers and a breeze emanates from the well-worn journal, but in the instant it dies down, the cover blows to the side: the sharp breeze was so intense it gave me a cut above my brow, and I curse outwardly… but wait.

How.

How, and why.

And what the flippin' _hell_?! What kind of witch-craf-

Oh, wait. Wait a fat second.

Was Takao… using magic?

No way.

No, _not_ him. He was so into science his whole life, there's no way in hell he'd study magic… right?

The first page looks blank, so I flip to the second. It's the same: a faceless page, wrinkly and damaged from the constant wear-and-tear of the world.

Takao must have taken this everywhere with him, but what's in it? I lean down and rest my forehead on it, so close yet so far.

When I lift my head and rub my eyes, I crane my head out the window to see the quickly-fading sun. There are some kids playing outside.

Hold on, is this the same book? The ratty moleskin has words in it – words that are in no way Japanese and probably not English. But, where the hell did they come from?

I whip my brow, where the slight blood touched the page.

Well, bullcrapflippin'shit. The words appear from blood? That's a little intense. The ruby speck on the top left slowly vanishes before my eyes, evaporating into the paper as the words are given light.

This is crazy.

Where did he learn a trick like this? I thought he was studying bioengineering?!

I need a moment, I need some air.

I heave one of Takao's jackets over my shoulders and go to my room to slip on my sneakers. When I'm walking down the hallway pass his room, I pause momentarily as I wipe the small trail of blood off my head.

What's the harm in taking that stuff outside with me? Using my sleeves indirectly, I slip the little plate-cup into my right pocket and Takao's moleskin into an inside pocket. I pass Hiro on my way out, and he looks curiously at me.

"You okay, imouto?"

"I just need some air," I huff, tying my hair back. I pause and retrace my steps to look back at him, sitting cross-legged, face buried in some photo album of when we were kids. Looking closer, I can see he's on the page with the same picture in the family room. He looks up, and believe it or not, smiles a little. "Alright. I'll let Mom know."

"Thanks." I linger momentarily before walking away. What I wanted to say was "did you know Takao was a magic-user?" or something along the lines of "do you… you know, _magic_?" But I couldn't and I didn't. I walk down the hallway, close the front door behind me, and start walking away.

Who knows. The world is spinning kinda wildly right now: anything's possible if you think about it.

.

.

.


	7. Enouement

Outside, the world's as normal as it's ever been – the neighbors are playing outside, the sun is rotating beautifully, and the **DO NOT CROSS** tape is all but gone.

Yes, it's a normal day.

About a half-mile from home is a park bench that, if I look hard enough down the hill, I can see the beach. If I listen hard enough, I can hear the gulls and the wind on the waves. If I smell hard enough, the salt tingles my senses.

If I try hard enough to leave the past behind, I could.

But I can't right now: the present's too important.

Using my sleeves gingerly, I pull the curved plate out form my pocket and set it beside me. With the moleskin in my lap I try to open it again, but for some dumbass reason it's glued tight again.

Alright, if this is magic, there's a way around it. _What did I do before_?

I cried. I'm not really in the mood for that right now, so I try something else.

When the book _was_ open, it was blood that revealed the words on the pages. I scratch the fresh scab on my brow, and a light slip of blood highlights my index finger.

_God, this is so weird_. _It's almost like cutting again, but this time,_

The moleskin opens

_This time, it's got a purpose. _

Diagrams come up first, in fancy highlighters and different designs. There's all sorts of scribbles in languages way too unnatural for my tounge, so I don't even want to try and say that crap.

A few pages in, it looks like Takao started a day-by-day…

* * *

**_Day 1_**

**_\- At first, the idea of some sort of bubonic plague was pretty bizarre, in all truth. However, Professor Caldwell insisted that something like that could have been contained chemically and preserved magically. Some students doubt him even after his lecture just now, and I don't blame them._**

**_He is an American after all_**

**_Either way, something is happening in Japan, and it is restricted to the island. A mutation in the common virus may be all there is to it, but there's no way the Mage's Association would bother studying it. I intended to use to bounded moleskin for the final next semester, but this just seemed fitting._**

* * *

I lean back on the bench and stretch, suddenly very tired. It almost looked like Takao really was a bioengineer, but its safe to assume he was just playing us. Where'd he pick up magic? How did he use it? What did he use it for? Was it the same as my slight enhancing, or maybe something, like, intensely cooler?

I guess he'd be writing in English because of school, but if this is a personal journal it would have made sense to stick to what you know.

Whatever he did, he's done now.

I keep reading.

* * *

**_Day 2_**

**_\- I just reinforced the boundary on this journal, I pray it holds together at the binding._**

**_Professor Caldwell just informed us that subject of his lecture yesterday is now a topic of debate amongst the three great branches of the Mage's Association. That being said, the matter is serious._**

**_I am genuinely surprised they haven't cracked down on the cause already – it seems like the Assoc. would be capable of dealing with this within a full rotation, with all of the resources it has. However, it has been two full days since they bothered to listen to the Prof._**

**_I have submitted myself to be a student associate on the matter. Where there is trouble, I have a hard time passing by the opportunity to assist the needy. I'm going to be honest and note that I could care more for the ignorant in the world, but this is relevant to my family._**

**_Pin-pointing the issue has left it near home. I can't help but pray that everyone's okay_**

* * *

**_Day 3_**

**_\- Professor Caldwell canceled class today. Rumor has it that he was brought on his hands and knees to the Director. The poor old coon._**

**_Some peers were discussing the likelihood of being selected for student researches on this controlled plague. They even felt the need to smear my chances in my face._**

**_They will be wrong one day. Lord El-Melloi proved that, but they remain ignorant. I will put them in their place._**

* * *

**_Day 7_**

**_\- I lost my moleskin, so my notes are now out of order. At least this isn't being turned in._**

**_But the matter is serious. Its not the common virus, and the Holy Church is requesting immediate support. That was as of two days ago, and the Assoc. wont even tell us HOW or WHY it established its connections to the church. I know that they've been working with us to keep magic under control for the last few generations, but that's a failed attempt._**

**_I don't want to restate my entire last paper here, but I put my heart on the line for those 46 pages, and what do I get? A missing teacher to check and analyze it._**

**_Someday, it will be publicized amongst the greatest of mages. As I stated, the traditional ways of magic-founded families is leaving, and people are finding their futures in the most bizarre of people. To restrict mage families to other mage families will not only restrict the number of mage offspring dramatically, but it will inevitably lead to genetic dysfunctions as a byproduct of the restricted gene pool. Let people fall in love, you arrogant old bastards._**

* * *

**_Day 12_**

**_I have been selected personally by Prof. Caldwell. We leave for Japan today after our debriefing._**

**_There has been a total of 43 deaths in Japan with no physical stamp of Mother Nature. 43. Those were men, women, and children that were going to live lives. I am astounded that the Mage's Association hasn't done more up to this point._**

**_I want to stop this before it takes even more, but how are any of us going to stop something that can't be traced or decoded?_**

* * *

**_Day 19_**

**_I used to think that Mother Nature had a kink in her armor, but the last seven days insists otherwise. I'm not giving up hope, but twelve more deaths have occurred since we've arrived. 12. That is 12 too many in the last week._**

**_The public only knows of a few. Some mages of lesser families are falling ill to this unnamed killer and are donating their bodies to our labs. There names were Daichi, Isao, and Naoko. Isao was five years old._**

**_I'm not giving up, but my peers – who were once so arrogantly insisting that they were superior to all others – have left in fear of their own lives. Professor Caldwell is looking grim too._**

**_I will not stop until we find out what is happening to the people here._**

**_So far, all it looks like is a mana drain to the bitter bone. No one is contacting them physically, and they were all people who carried magic in their blood._**

**_Professor Caldwell insisted that we were all safe, and came to me personally saying that I might be the last hope. Because I am a non-mage by bloodline._**

**_It stings to hear that from the old coon, but he has a point. For some reason, all of the people being killed are people of lesser mage families. The Mage's Assoc. is looking into the possibility that it is just some hierarchal family raining on everyone beneath them, but that doesn't fit the picture, not to me._**

**_No, there's something else at play here._**

* * *

**_Day 23_**

**_Professor Caldwell was called back to the Tower. At first we couldn't figure out why, but Lord El-Melloi has taken over the task of researching this silent killer._**

**_This assassin strain has taken out six more people, all people of mediocre family status in the mage community. I have sequenced eighteen genomes of eighteen who have fallen, and there is no particular gene that they all share beyond the basic human elementals._**

**_Its not a disease, I am positive. All of my research points to it being an outside party, or something non-natural. It isn't Mother Nature, after all._**

**_Lord El-Melloi is a melodramatic man, but intimidating and to the point, so I have no complaints. I want to speak to him someday about rising to his status despite his bloodline, but that will have to wait for another day._**

**_For now, we need to save the people of Japan._**

* * *

**_Day 25_**

**_After spending nearly a month on this classified field assignment, Lord El-Melloi has respectfully sent everyone home._**

**_There is a total of 78 deaths in Japan by this Assassin. 78_**

**_He wouldn't tell us what he was going to do, but he barked that he was going to handle the situation. If Professor Caldwell couldn't – sure he's a coon, but he's a smart old bastard who's seen and lived through a lot more than Lord E-M – what chance does E-M have?_**

**_I've been itching to see my family since setting up camp in this science research facility for the last three weeks. I mean, I've been home this whole time, yet forbidden from going out to see them._**

**_I know we have our problems, but Hiro and Kazumi are my baby siblings. Hiro should be coming home right about now from his city college anyway, this might pan out better than expected._**

* * *

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_Day 26_**

**_I know what is going on, and I think I know how to stop it._**


	8. Onism

_**I took a few library novels with me in hopes of deciphering the problem at bay here, but I am POSITIVE I know what it is.**_

_**It is mana cyphering, a burning of souls in order to collect mana for a large problem**_

_**At first that wasn't a real deal since that could very literally mean anything, but then I realized something – the cyphering itself is untraceable. Originally we just thought it was some sort of plague-manifesto that latched onto the host through their magic circuits before corrupting and eventually killing. Cyphering, on the other hand, is the extraction of said energy and the movement of it to another body.**_

_**Characteristically, the mana cyphering is proudly done by a so-called "noble" family and is done with arrogance, leaving their family crest and their particular scent everywhere at the scene of the crime.**_

_**But that has not been the case…**_

_**So the cyphering is occurring on a wide-net scale, like a fisherman dragging the ocean floor. Just like when fishing, the net here has holes in it to allow the "insufficient" humans free – why go through the effort of draining someone of their mana if they hardly have any in the first place – and has yet to cast a net strong enough to hold the real mage families.**_

_**The first form of mana cyphering was developed by a "Justeaze Lizrich von Einzbern," a German woman at the head of a great family, the Einzberns, 200+ years ago. Apparently the family had an ancient healing ability, lost it, and was looking to gain it back plus a little more.**_

_**The journal has a number of pages ripped out, but it looks like this woman as well as two others – a man, something along the lines of "Schweinorg," which I'm guessing is German or Prussian – and a "Tohsaka," who looked to be Japanese. They got together to find this magic the Einzbern family lost long ago, and apparently the ritual is used today. Always in Japan, since the Japanese man was the one who provided the land necessary for the transmutation.**_

_**How, or why, is unknown. The next several page are gone. The bottom of the first of the torn is still on the binding, so I have at least SOMETHING to work with.**_

_**All I need to do is invert the spell that was cast. That's it**_

_**.**_

* * *

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**It requires a blood sacrifice**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**.**_

* * *

_**.**_

_**.**_

_**3 chickens min**_

_**3.48 M Fusicoccin**_

_**Oak tree slab**_

_**Height at 9:26**_

_**This is it.**_

_**I have something to appeal to the spirits.**_

_**Here's to everything that ever could be and all the things that will be.**_

* * *

There's a lot in German, some in Japanese, and a lot in awkward English that I can't quite understand. Pentagrams, circles, hexagons, and triangles dot each page like some bar code, with a lot of scribbling and massive amounts of circling around consecutive things.

I page through emptily, looking for something worthwhile; the blood I "offered" it has yet to sink in to all of the pages. Unsure of what I'm supposed to do, I grab the book by the binding and shake it, as if it'll quicken the process.

Out drops a small pack of cocaine and a flake of some old-ass tree.

_Well, it doesn't smell like cocaine_, I reason, taking a tentative whiff of the bag. I sharpen my nose… _harder... harder_… it almost smells like the preservatives for those dissecting animals in lab sciences. But what gives, Takao? Why the hell are you carrying this around with you?

I sigh and lean back again, scratching my head in frustration. How could my brother have lived this life without me? How did he shoulder so much burden, without me _noticing_? I can't imagine how he felt about being underminded so much at school, after fighting so hard to get in there. Then to spend weeks on something, just to be told to go home… I don't blame him for doing just that, but I'm pretty sure the instructor meant back to the "Mage's Association."

I moan outwardly and fall forward, forearms resting on my thighs.

_How did this happen. _

How could someone as good as him fall to such a horrible fate?

I wonder if fate's a real thing, you know? I bet Takao could have decoded it, being the smarty he was. Not only would he be able to shake hands with fate, I bet he'd be the first to challenge it. Yeah, that's Takao for you – easy to underestimate, but hard to forget. That's the print he was going to leave on this world.

What are we supposed to do with fate? I mean, Takao was one in a million, and now he's gone; if the world is going to steal someone that precious to people, then who among us normal people has a chance of living our own lives? Its not like a lot of us will ever amount to anything more than a few simple mistakes. Its like being at sea our entire lives and slowly beginning to sink… and while you aren't totally afraid… you also don't… care, all too much. Fate is the hole someone falls into when they grow up. Fate is the future that can't be escaped.

Life isn't a board game. Existence is nothing more than a cellular science. _There's no chance of any of us becoming _anything_._ If there's anything I've learned from Takao's death, it's that.

I slowly sink down from my sitting position on the bench and lie down on the hard surface. Its not totally cold enough to scare me back home, but its not the most comfortable thing to fall asleep on. I wonder how the homeless do it.

I flip over, face down, and push the moleskin and plate in front of me.

It looks like he wrote some crappy poem. Then again, this is _magic_. There's the chance that its a funky spell, but…

Something compels me. I read it, at first in my head as I muse over the English, but then out loud.

* * *

A wolf walks through its kingdom in the silence of the day, the peace of its conquer ringing quietly in its ears. It rules the forest and everything to exist within it; it's a poem that has yet to be alienated by man.

But the wolf's ears sway, and its feet fall into place behind it as it chases an usual sound. It is an innate behavior – curiosity, respectfully - and to abide by curiosity is to thrive. The wolf slinks and roams its domain, weaving between the trees and the hedges and the many creatures that occupy each.

It hunkers down low, the wind whistling between its sharp ears. Before it kneels a killer unlike any other; a beast of burden, one who's eyes have seen the ultimate demise of life itself. It turns slightly to acknowledge the king it has so wrongfully trespassed against, but turns away, ignorant of the forest's master.

The wolf flexes its claws, digging into the ground, as the breeze shuffles through each raised hair on its back. It is the last of its kind, a soldier of a time long forgotten, with nothing but its duty to the forest keeping Death at bay. It growls, excited by the opportunity of a true challenge, but weary of the possible fate life will hand over.

Oh, how easy it would be to let everything to fall to the chaos. What is a forest, without a master dictating the birds and the bees? What is a civilization, without a law guiding its participants?

Both the man and the wolf now face each other, fully aware of the adversary's abilities.

And the wolf relaxes, hackles lowered and eyes wise. It will not attack the man, but it will not leave him alone either.

He knows the anticipation for war, he knows the looming threat on the balance of the world; where man has fallen ignorant in the last few thousand years, the animal kingdom recognizes the monstrosity building in the heavens.

The wind carries the sent of battle. Destruction is sure to follow in the next twenty-four hours, but the total extent of spilled blood is unknown.

The wolf sits beside the man, watching over the hill just as the man beside him. He knows a heroic spirit when he sees one.

* * *

_May Fusicoccin and the bark of the oak be the binding_

_May the water and the scavenger work the root_

_May white be the flash of Death_

_May fall the wall against the rising winds_

_May the wings of the holy cardinals lift the pearly gates_

_Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate. _

_The flesh of the undecided may return to sleep_

_And my flesh the burn of your re-arrival,_

_Return to the Holy Grail, return the truth you longed to breath._

_I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven;_

_I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell._

_Holy Grail Servant, Return to your holy domain._

The power sparks and tree bark explodes at the final line, igniting in a crimson mess before evaporating in some indigo hue. A diagram on the page next to his poem reacts the same way, and within a heartbeat of speaking the last line, a violent wind bursts from the book itself. I can feel my energy bleeding away, despite the situation I've put myself in. The cup seemed to react to the incantation through reaching out to my own sixth-sense and supplying the need of the book with its own energy. But that's not the lasting impression.

You know that feeling when someone's watching you… somewhere? That is called the sixth-sense by a lot of people, or the ability to sense someone creeping on your personal space. Once I uttered the last line, I can physically feel someone prodding my mind, my most personal space, ticking away at it with a razor-sharp fingernail.

_Ra-ta-ta-ta-tatata_…._Oh my, what have we here?_

_Shit_! What the hell? I scream and clench my head, hair in fistfuls as I try to shake off the throbbing pain of someone crushing my skull from the inside. I sit up and try to stand but fall back down, my scream falling into a cry for mercy.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

_I'm going to die, and no one's going to miss me._

The pain fades slowly away, and my hands fall dead beside me as I drip with sweat. The atmospheric pressure has shifted. Something… something's happening. Something's _wrong_.

I….I…. I need to get out of here.

But I feel so weak, so _weak_ and tired. Maybe I can just sleep for a little while… yeah, let's… lets just…. ignore the pain.

I reach out slowly to put Takao's moleskin back in my inside pocket and the cup in another. I almost don't notice the fact that the cup took some of my throbbing away while I held it in my palm… I…. I can feel… the peace, the relief. _This… this is nice._ Almost motherly… but _nice_.

My eyes are only half open, but they're wide enough to notice the flickering instant the cup morphs into something it _isn't_ –

\- at first, I just thought it was a pack of ravens behind me. They started up from in the distance, somewhere between existence and the nameless void, and beat at the wind relentlessly. Some cry, some simply watch with their beady eyes as they divebomb at me.

I turned around to see whatever the fuck was being so loud behind me… its… its hard to… to fall asleep with so much… _so much noise._

I saw them, beady eyes and black beaks, a second before they sparked into knives.

In this instant, I can see nothing but the void crashing into me.

I can hear nothing but the tremble in my heartbeat.

I can feel nothing but a single drop of sweat caress my cheek.

_Oh_

_My_

_God_

The cup instantly lashes into a three hundred and sixty degree shield, fully equip to defend its master. The knives crash into the violet forcefield, and the shadows all around me shake in rage.

NOW

I roll off the bench, belly up as a knife impales the wood I was just lounging on.

Okay, _now_ I'm awake.

I scramble to my feet to run, to pray, to do ANYTHING, but fall time and time again.

I'm racing against time itself. Everything is in slow motion, yet its… its happening so damn fast.

I'm plumming down the hill, screaming and pounding the pavement beneath me as fast as I can. My foot catches a crack in the ground, and I trip. It's as simple as that. I land on my chin, biting my tongue mid-scream. When I tumble to a stop in the middle of the street, an eerie silence greets me.

_What_

WHAT IS GOING ON

A collection of shadows pools not six feet away from me, rising into a visible mass. It looms as it collects, almost building itself sideways as a leg steps towards me.

Then another one.

Then another.

.

.

.

_This is it._

_I'm going to die._

_I… I'm so sorry Takao. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have snooped, I should have just staid home._

_I… I'm so sorry. _

* * *

**I'm updating a little quickly 'cause we're right around the corner from finally getting everything in order; we have one more after this before we're up-to-date with the original oneshot. As always, please do comment! This is getting a few hundred views a day, I'd appreciate hearing from some more of you :D_  
_**


	9. Fate

The shadow looms just in front of me, whip-like tentacles manifesting from the fading light of the dying day. There is no face under the mask of the dusk, this nightmare is a horrible dream without a reality.

In any moment now, I will become nothing. Nothing but the fallen memory of a dead brother. I will be killed by a faceless body, a woman, it would appear, that will never be hunted down to avenge me.

_How will Hiro feel? Oh god, I didn't even think of him._

_Mom? Dad? I'm sorry. I'm sorry as hell._

I want to close my eyes, but the tremble of my body forces them wide open; I, and I alone, will bear witness to my demise. No one will notice, and no one will care.

I can feel a tear slide down my cheek as I try to breathe.

And a clash of thunder erupts from the mountainside.

His face is forged with the ferocity in his heart – vile and intense, the man's white brow furrows with frustration as he leaps at the shadow. From my place on the ground, the newcomer is nothing but a red flash, a streak of savagery hell-bent on piercing the shadow. It reclines and swooshes sharply to avoid contact, but the cardinal alien realigns himself to jab again. Caramel-colored skin catches the fading light as the shadow fights to live; my savior is some sort of chocolate… God. Because only a god could do this… right?

Back and forth, the two leap and dodge various attacks. It doesn't look like the shadow wants me dead anymore – holla at you for that – but I can't _move_. I'm memorized by the sight… it's so… alien… so foreign, so supernatural.

In the flash on an instant, the dark man leaps back, draws an arm to his side, and a bow appears. It's easily longer than me, length-wise, and thin as a bone the further you travel from the center. Yet, as the crimson man strings a magically-materialized arrow – its own details are too hard to see, even with enhanced eyes, since the whole event is over within the blink of an eye – the bow arches, a mountain lion coiling to pounce on its next meal. As thin as it looks, it doesn't snap under the pressure.

I catch the man's eyes in this instant, and all of the air in my lungs escape me. _Oh dear god, he's __**beautiful**__. _Even with a scowl piss-filled enough to tear the world in half, his eyes are somehow brown but tinted with the silver lining of an angel. He's seen the end of the world, I know that. But how could such a beautiful man have survived something that he clearly has? He's been through hell – the suffering is imprinted on his eyes – and yet he stands here, fighting for _me_.

I can almost feel the intensity of the situation tingling my bones. My sixth-sense, which up to this point I thought was nothing more than a tool to "acquire" information that I wasn't supposed to have, burns inside of me. That bow, that arrow… that man! To put the situation in words is unbelievably difficult: I mean, I was on the brink of being killed, surly the same way Takao did. Yet I'm saved by a superhero? I'm to be spared by a man, who could just as easily sever my head from the rest of my body? I cringe as his drawn-back hand lets go, and the arrow pierces the shadow with a scream of violence.

The ground shakes beneath me as the shadows of the bench, posts, houses, and plants curl in pain. My own shadow seems to freak out a little, but I'm too overwhelmed by my sixth-sense right now to really react.

The nightmare lady's tentacle arms lash out in reflex, shrill screams scorching my ears. The red man doesn't seem to mind all too much since he is quickly 'preoccupied' with shadows curling around his neck and limbs.

I didn't think it was possible, but his face is tight with pain. His growl has become a grimace.

And I sit, stupidly, watching.

Hold on a fat second.

Hold on a FAT SECOND! He's in pain, he's in danger! If I lose him, that shadow will defiantly come back for me. _No_, I can't let him die, I just can't!

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.

.

Oh, who am I kidding? I don't know how to fight – hell, I'm barely passing calculus. There's nothing a girl like me can do.

My hands curl in fists beneath me, supporting me as I straighten up from my place on the ground, but it's not the cold surface I feel beneath me; a gleam of color radiates from my sweatshirt. It's a warmth, almost motherly, that ebbs from my pocket, and I throw my hand in and wrap my fingers around the little plate-cup antique.

I totally forgot it was there. I'm more surprised by the fact that it isn't violently hurting me, but rather reacting to the violence in the atmosphere.

I might be a whole lot of a person, but _I __**can**__ do something._

I stand up without thinking. My legs slowly fall forward, then pick up speed, and I'm running _without thinking_.

I'm running right two the two fighting Gods. The shadow continues to scream, its voice alien to mine, and the red man is lifted off his feet as he struggles against the grasp.

For an instant, the blinding light is so… _peaceful_, I almost wish I am dead. I feel nothing – not the brisk atmosphere, not the cool stars bleeding above, not the sixth-sense corrupting the place I call home. For that heart-beat, everything was as right as it could ever be.

My eyes peel open to see a radiant, violet flower before me. It's almost maroon, with a simple diamond in the center. The petals stretch and dance out around me – three, in all – in a serene state of mind. Its _own_ state of mind.

And the moment it's gone, every cell in my right arm screams.

I collapse, and the cup-plate retracts into its palm-sized natural state. It was no longer than a second of stupidity, but it was enough for the man in red to be freed of the shadows trapping him; the moment his feet hit the ground, he reaches out for me.

I'm shocked at first by the touch of his hands – they are big and calm, despite fighting a demon straight from hell. He pulls me back and stands before me, blocking my view from the shadow. His bow, which fell to the ground, was back in his hand.

An arrow, radiant and glistening like an angel, appears in the palm of his free hand.

He draws back

And releases.

Again, the shadow screams, but I can't see it. Instead I curl up on the ground, both hands grasping tightly to the cup that metamorphosed into a shield. It coos in my palm, soothing and relaxed, after releasing so much pent-up mana.

The big and kind hands scoop under me, but I'm so tightly wound I don't dare look up. The screaming is so piercing, I'm positive my ears are bleeding.

But that's the least of my worries. I'm off the ground, and the wind whistles around me. I curl up tighter and tighter into the chest of my savoir.

What

The

F***ing

Hell

_Is going on_

_._

_._

_._

* * *

**Sorry, implied language. But you'd be a little freaked out by this too, I'm pretty sure ;)  
**


	10. The Meeting

"Who are you? Who was that back there? What do you want from me? Where'd you come from? What the HELL is happening? Hey, answer me!"

He stands, indifferent to my words. His eyes seem to tear across the land in front of us, prying every detail from every object and engraving it in his mind; it's with an almost foxlike serenity that he reaches down silently to hoist me off my feet.

Yeah he's cute, but he's not cute enough to just do what he wants with me.

I slap him across his right cheek, but I think it hurt me more than it hurt him. His eyes flicker down to me for once, and he frowns as I shove both hands against his broad (and _fine_, might I add) chest. "And that was for…?"

"You don't just… _pick up_ someone!" I whine, shoving him as hard as I can; the unexpected force against his chest dislodges me from his grasp, and I tumble stupidly to the ground. My left hand still throbs from hitting his face, and I recoil, crawling backwards and over the pebbly beach.

_Wait, what am I doing? This guy's a… a, a monster! _He killed someone back there! The man sees the shock on my face and softens immediately, an unforetold compassion suddenly loosening his many muscles. I keep crawling away though, and I try to stand up and _run, _but I fall back down on my chin. He tries to advance again – arm stretched out, red sleeve, crimson like blood –

"DON'T you DARE touch me!" I scream, head suddenly light and fuzzy. He steps closer, and I scramble further and further back, my legs, hands, and ass getting scrapped by sea salt, shell fragments, and sharpened stones pounded away by the wrath of the ocean. The faint kindness in his eyes falls apart, and he glares at me, fists abruptly planted on his hips. "Now you're just being ridiculous. Get up and get over here."

"No! Who the _hell_ are you to tell me what to do?"

"Who am I? I'm the guy who just saved your sorry life." He cocks his head to the side a little, a finely groomed eyebrow arched at me. I stop scrambling, but I stay dumbfoundly on the ground, heart racing uncontrollably. God, I can feel the sweat dripping down but I can't hear anything – not the crash of the waves, not the whistle of the wind – nothing but my blood pounding away, threatening to rupture my eardrums.

So the festering madness and the silence between us grows steadily; I can only imagine what I must look like right now. Probably like hell, especially compared to a guy like hi-

STOP IT. He just took me against my will, it doesn't matter how hot he is!

He sighs and drops to sit on his heels. He wisps his hands out to catch the red drapes before he settles down, and flings it out behind him – in a way, the little notion makes him seem remarkably regal.

I frown and try to regulate my breathing. "Are you going to answer my questions?"

"Maybe." His eyes are closed and his head is dipped a little low, but as he reaches to scratch his head, I can see a faint smile prying at his serious face. "Or maybe you should focus on answering mine."

"What question? Look, what do you want from me." I'm trying to play it off strong, and my question comes out more like an accusation than anything else, but my words don't change his body language. A few seconds meander past before he answers only loud enough so that it's barely audible beyond my screaming blood.

"Nothing."

"Where are you from."

"What makes you think I'm not from around here?" He accuses, finally looking at me. I frown and kick my chin up a little. "No one in their right mind would wear something like… _that_ here. You look like you're on your way to a comedy event or a renaissance fair."

He laughs and falls back on his butt, kicks out a leg, and lolls an arm over a knee: by the way he responded, its like we're sitting in his living room discussing the latest Ben Stiller movie.

"Nah, I'm not headed in either of those directions. Any other royal questions?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I answered that one already."

"ALRIGHT," I throw up a hand in exasperation, "WHAT was that back there?!"

"That's the question of the day." He stares me down, and I finally notice his eyes are radiant, yet dull, and they emit a hazel-grey hue. We stare at each other, and I slap my hand against the ground. "So you wont answer me?"

"How do I answer a question, when I do not have the answer?"

"This is useless." I mumble, avoiding his eyes. I turn to watch the water in the bleakhorizon, and he copies me. We sit as I steady myself. He sighs again, but I wont look at him; instead, I ask a final question.

"Why do you want to kill me?"

"Why would you ask that to the guy who just ran here to save your life? Besides, if I wanted to kill you, do you _really_ think we'd be sitting here, having this conversation right now?"

I shake my head and glare at him. "Murderers and serial killers are _madmen_. I don't know what to expect from one." Again, he cooks his head a little. His voice is elegant and smooth – exactly what you'd expect from a hot crazy. "You think I'm a killer?"

"I saw what you did to that guy back there."

"_What I did _was discharge her mana. I didn't kill him."

"Why. And what do you mean _her_?"

"Because I'm not a killer." He stands up and offers me a hand. He looks up to the sky, and I watch the brilliance of his eyes twinkle in the starlight. "That was an Assassin-class Heroic Spirit, either sent to kill your or triggered by another in a similar manner to what happened to your brother."

_How the hell can the stars reflect off this guys eyes? _

"Come. We've wasted enough time. We need to get moving."

"Wait… how, how do you know… how do you know what happened to Takao?"

"What happened to him is what happened to you. He opened a two-way chamber-cast spell to the one who corrupted the Holy Grail. In doing so, he was killed. Now, lets go." I can't see his face past his open palm.

"I don't need your help!" I spit violently. I stand up on my own, and he looks down at me like I'm nothing more than a stray cat that's wandered into his path. How dare he! He acts like Takao was nothing more than a casualty! We stare briefly, the fire in me suddenly nothing compared to the sternness in him, and I slap his hand away before walking on my own.

I make it about twenty steps before he yells at me: I can tell I'm trying his patients - his voice cracks. "Do you know what happened back there?" He accuses, a boiling rage in his voice. I flip the bird and keep marching.

"_LOOK_. AT. ME."

I wont.

"Get back here!"

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A dark wisp collects in front of me, and he appears out of thin air – again, his hands are on his hips, but now he glares furiously. "Look, _idiot_ \- if I wanted to do this, I'd do it by force. But right now there are bigger things that you need to worry about then your pride."

"Says the renaissance fair man."

"Yes, says me!" His head whips to the side before he narrows both eyes back on me. "Listen, I get that you don't understand what is happening, but that's not important. What _is_ is that you cooperate and that we keep moving. Its fastest if I just carry you."

"I can walk, thank you very much."

"What part about moving fast do you not get?"

"But what did that… thing want from me?"

"Nothing, other than killing you." For the last time, he opens a hand to me. "If I have to do something I don't want to save your measly life, then I simply wont do it. But if you are willing to cooperate, then we can make sure you see sunrise."

For the first time tonight, I can sense a genuine honesty in his words. I reach out tentatively, accepting his hand, but my fingers linger just inches away for one last question.

"Who _are_ you?"  
He smiles: it's the most dashing thing I've seen in months. Whether or not he's a good person is yet to be determined, but he's not a bad human being… not yet, not as far as I can tell.

He reaches between us, grasping my hand in his.

"Call me Archer."

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* * *

**This was the original one-shot. It was tweaked ever-so slightly to better fit the plot that was shaped around it.  
**


	11. Around the Bend

We left the beach close to eight, me trailing behind Archer like a scolded dog after running away. I keep scuffing the ground with my sneakers, kicking rocks too and fro in the awkward silence; Archer couldn't care less. I was a burden to him, and he was making it clear as day. So I march on with a scowl on my face. I tried making sense of the situation – Takao's moleskin in my coat, the little shield in my pocket – but Archer had a hard time answering my questions.

"Why do you wear red?" (I hate that color, if I forgot to mention that.)  
"Why are _you_ wearing a coat."

"Why are you so cocky?"

"Why are you so obnoxious."  
"How did that person use those shadows?"

"Magic. How did you get that shield?" (I think that question of his actually meant something to him – he turned around slightly to emphasize a glare at me)

"_Magic_. What's a 'Servant'?"

"A Heroic Spirit brought back to the land of the living through a mana connection between themselves and a Master. How did yo-"

"And who's a Master?"  
"Someone who controls and beckons a Heroic Spirit. I'm not answering any more questions until you answer mine."

"My brother bought it." I rub a finger over the back of the small surface, where it still coos from within my jacket. "How did you know I was there?"  
"The same way the woman knew you were there. You cast a spell that opened a channel between yourself and the Holy Grail. _How did your brother get it_?"

"He bought it somewhere. What's the 'Holy Grail'?"

"A divine wish-granter. _Where_ did he buy it, girl?"

"Why do you call me that? And I don't _know_ where, he never cared to tell me. What makes it divine? Who made it?"

We went for a few miles – about an hour's worth of walking – before he finally stopped. We were working our way inland and were near a park on the outskirts of New Town. It's a classic park without much in it other than grass, trees, and the occasional bench. Even the lampposts beside the main path seem dreary and tired of the human-comb scenery. Its as if we think this is natural, tending to such a small chunk of land like it's a Shiba Inu or a Pomeranian – let it out for the weekend and it'll die within hours. This is it, the sterilization and prostration of nature that man partakes in.

I can't stand parks like these.

But it wasn't the scenery that we stopped for; even I can sense a faint musk in the air, a sixth-sense that makes my skin crawl. I was still waiting for an answer, but instead I was leashed like a dog. "Stop," Archer commands, head turned sideways and eyes prying at the every detail of our surroundings.

He's really actually beautiful, now that I've spent some time with him. He clearly works out, at the very least. But it's his demeanor that kinda rubs me the wrong way: he carries himself like the world is below him, like everything is nothing, and nothing is nothing worth caring about. Evenso, his demeanor is kinda… beautiful in its own. God, he seems like a trip. I wonder if he has anyone to call family.

He's not thinking about that right now. He turns around and picks me up by the back of my shirt, and I squeal in surprise. "What the h-!"

"Silence!" He hisses, eyes on the shadows. He forcefully drops me in some brambles and makes a point to glare at me. "No matter what happens next, you _stay_ _down_, understand?"

I open my mouth with a sharp retort as I pull my shirt down from the snarl of thorns, but he leans in closer. "Girl, this may be life or death for you. Do as I say, and do not run. _Understand_?"

Wait, what's going on? I don't have time to answer him as he walks forward and away so his back is to me once more. Oh god, oh god, what's going on?!

Oh god, my heartbeat is driving me crazy. I feel like my heart is going to burst from my chest if I stay down here any longer. I fidget, but remain.

Hold on a second, I'm not helpless! I shut my eyes and hone my ears… _harder… harder!_

The sensation of the brambles fades away, and the cold ground whispers away. _Harder…harder!_

The sounds flood me – first the insects in the soil, then the wind caressing Archer's hair. Then… harder… harder! Feet down the path.

They are heavy, almost clad in metal. I want to open my eyes, but the person has to be pretty far away still. What the hell is going on in this world? Is it a cyborg, a metal monster? No, they walk on two legs, so its no Trojan horse… but what is it?

The feet stop, and I pry my eyes open, begging to see the newcomer before us. At first my eyes are too forcefully commanded to adjust to the lights and colors so I'm blinded momentarily. As my feeling flows back to my fingers and toes, I find myself cutting my fingers against the rasping thorns of the bush I was planted in.

And what I finally see, I simply cannot believe.

The husk of armor stood upright and statue-esk, unmoving in the slight breeze. From my perspective within the bramble, the armor stood glistening white, pure as a flippin' virgin, if you think about it; in a way its almost ironic, given that whoever wears that probably has killed an ass-ton of people. The shoulder pads arch like arrowheads, and twinning pieces of steel flanks both of the warrior's legs. The soldier is covered from head to toe (or so it would seem) with red accents striping and spanning from metallic piece to metallic piece.

Under the clawed right clove is the hilt of a sword as long as myself. Its weird, looking at a sword and thinking that it's a real thing, since the only thing we've got round here are those plastic things kids wave around. A child-like curiosity makes me want prod it – you know, test whether or not it's the real deal – but Archer's anxious battle stance tells me otherwise.

The helmet leaves no room for guessing who was inside, since the only visibility to within it is the narrow slits for the bearer's eyes. Bull-like horns arch and twine from the helmet on either side, giving the complete uniform an almost demonic look. If the suit itself weren't so white, I'd say it was almost sinister looking. I try to peek up from the thickets, but freeze as the head shifts ever so slightly in my direction.

Archer stands, his drapery flowing behind him as he sizes up the knight in front of him. That is a knight, isn't it? I honestly had a hard time believing they were real, but shit almighty, here we are! If this Holy Grail thing is serious business, then maybe I need to reconsider the situation we're in.

"What do you want?" Archer demands, eyes narrowed. "If you are a fellow Servant without a Master to heed, then let me be."

What the hell is he talking about? Archer's no one's Servant… right? Is he going on with this person about that 'Holy Grail'? He wouldn't make all that much of a waiter or a butler if you ask me…

But the soldier gives no notion of answering. Instead, it clasps the handle of its weapon in both hands, shifting his weight so he's more centered. The tip of the sword digs slightly into the ground between his legs, and the left hand lifts and curls its digits. "I am assuming you are the Saber-class servant. Honor your dignified title," Archer commands, his reassuring confidence diminishing ever-so slightly, "and leave this place _now_." The statue before him doesn't respond: to the untrained ear, that is the sound of ignorance. Here, my guardian responds to the silence as if shot at through the heart.

Archer spreads his legs a little to better ready himself for whatever hell's about to come his way: and here I am, hiding like a goddammned fool.

What the hell is going on?

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* * *

**[IS ANYONE ELSE PUMPED FOR S2 OF FATE/STAY NIGHT UBW? I'LL PROB UPLOAD THE SECOND HALF OF THIS TOMORROW JUST CAUSE]**


	12. The Blitz

Two knifes… no, swords, spark to life in his waiting palms. He does it like he as a million times before – without a breath of hesitation, without a moment of realization – and jolts into battle.

I was going to say _springs_, but springs seem like slow things to me; no, this guy's tight ass catches fire, and he _blitzs_ forward.

There is no hesitation in his eyes: fighting is a language he is no stranger to. And when you're in his shoes, it looks like it's the only language you can speak: it is either speak up, or die. Speak the serenade of death, or run and pray to live another day.

I could have blinked and he would'ov been missed by my mortal eyes, but even then I couldn't react fast enough to blink – in all literal senses of the word, he was beside me one second and twenty-four feet away the next. He slams an arm against the foe, slashing like a maniac hacking blindly at a tree, but does it with such accuracy and such in-depth thought process it is simply _amazing_. And the foe does just the same, right back, with the same level of extreme and unnatural intensity. The white armor flashes in the fading light as it draws closer and closer to my protector. They serenade and sing to each other, the language beyond any normal person's conversation, crashing into the lampposts, benches, and flora around us. Craters decorate the ground, accumulating like stars across a sunset sky.

_They fight to kill. _And here _I _am… what am I, in this battle, anyway? Why is Archer trying to keep me hidden? What did he mean by Servants and Masters before?

And what did he just tell me to do? Sit here, and wait? Cower and hope for the best? The foe's foot twists to support a lightening-fast shift of weight and pushes against it, a small crater cracked into the husk of the midnight pavement.

Like hell I'm going to stay here!

"No, STOP!"

I'm halfway to the bus stop in the opposite direction of their hurricane when I hear those simple little words – but I don't stop, I just can't! Like HELL I'm sticking around!

I trip, something snaring my leg as it's forced down in my panicked run. I am in slow motion, and a million years pass before what happened next.

A knife tears the atmosphere in half, ripping at the bare skin of my cheek. Blood doesn't have time to ooze out, not in the span of time that it takes for a second knife to come flying at me.

I didn't feel that one – it didn't even come close. Instead, the dark-hilted weapon snares itself in the back of my savior, and with me bundled against his chest, he bounds away. I didn't even have time to hit the ground, and here we are, up and flying away. I glance up and my eyes don't know what to look at – _I almost died_. The last thing they were expecting to see was the cold hard ground, and here I am.

He lands on the roof of a building and takes another flying leap.

I can't look away. Not now, now after what just happened. I almost died, and for something _I can't even catch a grasp of._ My eyes are locked on his, and I can feel them trembling. God, just look away! I don't want to owe this mugger anything, get over the situation! This IS NOT happening!

But I _can't_. I can't turn my head. I can't look forward, I can't look back. I'm frozen in the place between space and reality, my mind a million miles away.

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"Its not as bad as it looks."

We're perched on top of a roof, somewhere probably a million miles away from the park. The skyscraper is dark and cold, and the moment Archer dropped me on its heartless surface, I feel to my knees. Now, he sits, and I found myself helping him pull the knife out of his back. It sits beside me, dark hilt and razor blade glistening with blood.

"Shut up," I mumble weakly, fingers shaking in the cold, uncertain atmosphere. I'm staring dead and cold at the rich color now staining his fabric. The instant the blade is removed, teal sparks flicker around the entry point. I'm not sure if I should be mystified or dumbfounded, but either way I'm too numb to feel.

_This..._

_This is all because of **me**._

"No." His voice is as powerful as ever as he flexes his back and pushes against his knee to stand up. "Leave it be."

"But I can't and you know that, asshole." I hastily whimper. He turns around as he stands, mouth open to say something else, but he stops when he sees my face; I can't see his of course, since my eyes are still glued to the place where his wound was just in front of me. He tilts a little to the side and waits.

"You are bleeding because of me, and it's not a goddammed paper cut or a splinter. It's a knife….my god, it's a _knife_…"

He doesn't say anything but continues to stare. We're both waiting for something worthwhile to ooze from my lips, but it's hard to tell if it'll ever come.

"You're putting your life on the line to protect me, and you can die from this. And I don't understand CRAP about this situation, and… and I can't sit around any longer like this! You've been pulling me too and from all night, telling me that movement's the only important thing…. Well, I call crap! I'm not taking another step until you tell me what the HELL is going on!"

I didn't realize I was crying; god, I must have looked like an absolute fool, crying there. An absolutely_ useless _fool. No I didn't know I was crying, not until I felt the salt-lined water drip to the crevice of my dumb lip. And he still stands there, bleeding lightly, basking in the moonlight, silent as a recently-abandoned grave.

"And… and I can't keep doing this! I'm just a girl – hell, I don't even count for that half the time! I'm just a-"

He cuts me off by strolling away, clearly not listening to my pity case. "That was a close call, you had better listen to me from now on, you _fool_."

"Oh, so now you're mad at me?" I screech like the idiot I am. "As if _that's_ justified! I should be mad at _you_! You didn't explain _shit_ to me! What the HELL is going on?!"

"That was a man lost in time like myself." Archer rolls his shoulder, checking whether or not he still had the full rotation. "He was a knight – I am sure of it – most likely of the Arthurian era. He was faster than I expected with that heavy armor. I can only imagine how powerful he is if he isn't holding back."

It takes me a second before I realize what he meant by that. "Wait, he was holding back? You guys took out, like, a dozen trees!"

"He had the opportunity to land a fatal blow to me several times. I am low on energy since lack a mana supply from any Master, not that you would know," He mutters more to himself than me. Sparks rise once more from his back wound to finish the job with the most minimal mana expense, and the silk replaces itself where the tear once was. He turns around to look at me, hands on his hips. "Well, we had better continue. You're doing nothing but slowing me down with your blind arrogance."

"That is not blind arrogance," A lovely voice announces from another corner of the roof. In the hush of the dying day, I spin in surprise to the shadow lingering just out of the sun's reach. "If you truthfully are a part of this puzzle, full knowledge and cooperation is required."

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* * *

**WHAT? There are other servants?! Omg who would'ov guessed.**

**I failed to introduce to you the resident nightmare from before; for now, I want to leave her anonymous. **

**For Saber, however, you are welcome to guess. I was really tempted to use the Saber we all know and love, but I thought "eh, what the hell. Lets cause some mayhem." This is the Saber of our situation, and every Servant was pulled from existing characters. But as to **_how_** or **_why_** these characters are here is for future chapters to determine. **

**So here we are. I'm going to slow down the releases between chapters simply because the story finally is building itself up, so I hope you wont stay all that made at me.**

**[BUT SWEET PECAN PIES DID YOU SEE FATE/STAY NIGHT UBW TODAY? LIKE ACTUALLY HOT DAMN MY STOMACH'S BEEN IN A KNOT I COULDNT SIT STILL AT WORK]**


	13. The Irish Sun

They squared up to each other instantly – well, the man in green was already intent on fighting us, but Archer mirrored his long-legged stance in the flicker of an instant. I stepped closer to Archer, eyes burning with anticipation at the battle they were sure to begin. I rub my tears away, suddenly both terrified and furious once more. _How many of these people are out here_? "Now," the man addresses, cocky grin brightening up the colorless atmosphere, "As a servant without a Master, you seem remarkably attached to this young lady. What might be the cause of _that_?"

It is not a sword, nor a bow, nor an enchanted book that sits in his masterful palm: it is a ribbon-tied staff, a spear of some sort, with a ruby red head. The sixth-sense ebbing from the staff is undoubtedly dangerous, and he positions himself shoulder first, ready to either attack or defend himself at any point. But the man relaxed his powerful shoulders, and his eyes dropped to mine. For a fluttering heartbeat, I felt nothing – not the bitter wind, not the tremble of my breath – and only his eyes on me. A mystical warmth suddenly floods my veins, and the only thing to free me from his startling gaze was a shiver triggered by the blazing wind. I blink, and clutch to Archer. His fingers react by digging deeper into his palms, and instantly materializes the hilts of the swords from before. They are inversions of each other, one yang, one yin. _Where did he find these?_

The man stands clad in green and black, a tight-fitted uniform of ancient embroidery only visible to prying, enhanced eyes. He is as lean as the man protecting me, if not more narrow, and with flamboyantly shaggy ebony hair. But it's his eyes that catch my attention, and I release my death-defying grip on Archer's red drapes.

He turns slightly to face me, surprised by my shift in character; no, I'm not proud of being afraid, but I now know a fearful situation when I see one. Those are not hell-bent, rage-filled eyes. He _wanted_ something, and he wasn't going to leave without getting what he wanted.

"W….Why are you here?" I try, pretending to not be as flippin' terrified as I truthfully am. The green man smiles gently, a wisdom in his demeanor. "Well, I seek retribution above all else, but I cannot find my peace as a knight without first knowing who brought this upon me."

"You are a knight." Archer reaffirms, his voice void of question. I can see his face change a little in my peripheral vision, and he straightens up a little. "And as a _Lancer_, that makes you only one known man."

The emerald knight cocks his head slightly, his beautiful smile widening. "I am honored to face a man who is knowledgeable, but I regret to inform you that I do not know _your_ face." His voice flows like a river, flexing all possibilities as it winds down a mountainside. "However, any mock swordsman who can handle a foe such as you did is a man I must respect. You are not barbaric nor flowing with mana, yet you lack the charisma of a true knight. Are you Rider, or are truly Assassin?"

How the hell did Archer know his name? Is that his title? And what's a Lancer, while we're at it?

Wait a second. Archer, Saber, Lancer… if Archer's go-to is his arrows, then that would make sense. This guy…. His tool is a _lance_, then. Saber was the swordsman. And if Archer knows this guy, we have the advantage to some unspoken extent.

I look up at my guardian, whose eyes are narrowed ever so slightly. He doesn't know how to react, and the man still stands there, waiting for a reply.

"What do you want from us?" I try again, stepping slightly away from Archer. He quickly shoots out an arm to act as a barrier between the emerald knight and myself, his yang-like sword reflecting stars I do not recognize above us. "Stay behind me, _girl_!" Archer hisses.

I rest my hand on his wrist and step even further away, still watching the man before us. His radiant smile fades away at the corners as Archer's face screws tighter. "If he wanted to attack us," I try to reason, "He would have. Plus, if he's a knight, he's supposed to… well, he's supposed to be kind, right?" My gaze flickers between them both, suddenly afraid of the position I put myself in. "He isn't here to fight… So, _why _are you_ here_?"

The man's gaze focuses on Archer, and the two stand for an _eternity_ sizing one-another up.

But Archer smiles a sassy smile, something handsome in its own right. The change in his character is nice to see, and I'm guessing he thinks he can take this guy easier than the last one; still, what the hell is going on here? "Well, are you going to answer the girl or not?"

_Stop calling me a girl, you sonofaabitch_.

"For reasons unknown, the Holy Grail has released me without a vessel to grant me permeability to this land. Someone is behind this out-of-the-ordinary action, and I do not plan to spend my reincarnated life serving another pointless war." His fingers tighten around his stick – _sorry_, lance – and he turns to the left, avoiding us and looking out into the darkened atmosphere. "I materialized the same as you did, Ruby Falsity, with knowledge prior to our precise moment of entry." His eyes narrow as he leaves out a fact unspoken. "As a knight, I cannot allow this devastation to wreak the innocent." He twirls the lance behind him and stands up perfectly straight; his eyes light up with momentary excitement before regaining his startling composure, hair flipped slightly out of his eyes. "You appear to be truthful in nature, despite your improper sexism to the young maiden. If the wrath-bearer behind this chaos is to be brought down, I seek to do so myself. However, many hands make light work, and my Gáe Dearg cannot sever complicated magecraft. So, what says you, ruby man?" He dips forward slightly, his lance tethered behind him; he looks like a tightrope walker bowing to the crowd, his balance pole the only thing keeping him from falling to his potential doom. In the same sense, the lance is his savior, as it is what keeps him true to himself.

He is a knight, first and foremost. Whether or not Archer is the same, he's got to admit this guy has true intentions - even _I_ can't deny he's a noble guy.

Archer keeps his eyes shut as he hesitates, but reaches the same conclusion as me after the silent passing of a minute. His twin swords evaporate and he balls his fists tightly by his side. Finally, he looks our new companion in the eye.

We have reached a truce. Lancer smiles to his fullest and rests a hand on his chest as he bows fully towards me. Well, _hot damn_. More hot men? If this wasn't the end of the world this'd be pretty flippin sweet! I can feel my ears burn a little under the intensity of his eyes. "In truth I believe this to be a wise move on both of our parts, but I cannot agree to serve justice beside a man who will not name himself."

"Archer," Archer says, putting emphasis on the fact that Lancer had classified him wrong, "And this girl is under my protection and mine alone."

"Very well." Lancer straightens himself out and walks closer. As he nears, my confidence shakes down to my knees. For the first time, I notice a particular speck under his eye, something that puts an emphasis on his almost unnatural beauty. "You lack the charisma to name yourself right now. That _is_ disappointing, but our evening has only begun. Have you anything to say for yourself, unnamed girl? Would you do me the honor and speak the truth of your name, as your guardian angel has so carelessly left out?" He addresses me, notably more respectful then Archer. I cough but answer, ears burning bright and heart fluttering like a damn fool. "I…I'm Hashimoto Kazumi. And since I'm clearly at a disadvantage here being normal and all, what's your name?"

His orange eyes glisten like the sun after a violent rain. "Diarmuid Ua Duibhne."

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* * *

**Diarmuid Ua Duibhne is considered one of the most recognizable heroes in Irish lore. He was a loyal man, dedicated to his leader and fellow man, and a powerful knight that weighed a lot of diligent thinking into his every action (or, so it would seem). His story always struck me as a sad one - all he ever did was help people, and due to a love curse, he was thrown into a tragedy unlike any other. _Fate/Zero _portrayed him as loyal nonetheless, but unfortunately we really don't get to see a whole lot of the character beyond the warrior he is so famous for. I'm going to note his actual past later on, but I felt he was a valuable character to throw into this fanfic because of the contrast between Archer and himself. In a way I see them as oil and water, but they are remarkably similar underneath their scarred exteriors.**

**Plus he's hot. Everyone likes a hot mess.**


	14. Epicenter of it All

They exchanged information rapidly as I tried to keep steady on my feet. A lot of words were thrown around like _Servant, Master, Holy Grail, vessel, Caster, casualties, _and_ war._ Archer paid attention to note how Servants are somehow attracted to me, and Lancer agreed that there was an undeniable force at hand. "What are you-?"

"How do you think I found you, girl?" Archer barks dryly, "Or Lancer? Saber? Assassin?"

"It happened right after I said something in the book," I try, earnestly embarrassed by his tone. Lancer's eyes narrow as he looks disapprovingly at Archer. "Whatever it is you said allowed me to sense you as I would a master, and yet, according to you," his eyes still on the cardinal man, "non of us apparently serve a master."

They seemed to reach an agreement when I wasn't really paying attention to their conversation (honestly, if you were flanked by two devilishly handsome men, you'd have been focusing on… well, the same thing) and turned to me. My ears burned up again as I gulped, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. "What?"

"We are discussing what you confirmed from your brother's notes," Diarmuid reaffirms kindly, almost as if I'm his little sister. For an instant, I feel like he could be Takao, but I shake off that illusion easily. Archer scuffs and turns away, apparently insulted by me, his little burden. I jump under Lancer's earnest gaze and pull the handbook out from the inside of my coat. "Oh! This one has the gist of the information he collected, but its hard getting past the barrier it's protected by. His miscellaneous notes at home seemed to conclude that everything he found was in here, but I have no idea what kind of "everything" that meant." Diarmuid nods. "Good, at least we have some sort of lead. Can you get past the barrier?" I hand him the book, which he holds at the corner like a dead rat by its tail. "I can, but I need to put some blood on it, and it'll take a few minutes for the words to appear." Lancer shakes the book as I did earlier: nothing falls out. "I am no mage by nature, but rather a soldier of pure intent." He hands it back to me and turns to Archer. "We need someone who can be trusted to decode the magical barrier encast upon this book, and someone who can further the research already conducted."

Archer huffs again, crossing his arms over his [beautiful] chest. "This is not something of my expertise. I do not know where to find one of these mages you seek, other than the Mage's Institution in London. However, the longer we fail to act, the more mana the caster of this chaos will grow."

Lancer sighs and rubs his brow, and I look down, embarrassed. He turns to me a little and softens slightly. "What is wrong, Hashimoto Kazumi?"

I hesitate before stomping my foot softly. "I'm so useless!" I blurt, furious with myself; I clutch to Takao's book like it's the last thing on Earth. "If I knew how to read and decipher what he wrote, we'd be able to act now…"

"What do you mean, _we_?" Archer accuses, arms down by his side again.

"Well, I figured that if you two reached a truce, then-"

"No, you are not included in this."

"Uh, sorry to burst your bubble, _Holy Man_, but I'm in on those whether you like it or not. Whatever Takao found out is in this book, and I'm the only one who can open it. It's a little weird, but… but it works!" I frown at him as he cocks a slight smile at my outburst. "Besides, I can find the bad guy, and you admitted that already. What makes you think you can do that?"

"I believe that, despite his informal persona," Lancer bends down to me - to _child_ me, of all things! – as he glares daggers at Archer, "he simply speaks with the earnest intentions of keeping you safe. You admit to not being a Master, let alone a studied mage. Do you have any combat skills to defend yourself?"

I step backwards as I still clutch to the moleskin. Diarmuid's hand falls off my shoulder. "Okay… I might not be a super-soldier, but, but-!"

"But nothing." Archer starts walking away from the two of us, clearly embarrassed to be surrounded by dweebs like us. "You are invalid in this matter. The only reason why you're alive now is because you currently may aid us in stopping the madness. Acknowledge the facts, _girl_."

I spin on my heel and turn to face the opposite direction, chin up but a pout on my face. I hear Lancer sigh as I pin-prick details from the view around me; as awkward as this situation is (and absolutely absurd), the view up here is really amazing. I can almost see the curve of the Earth as life slips into the spell of sleep. It has to be close to seven by now, maybe even eight o'clock; stores are closing for the evening and friends are parting ways to go home.

_Home_. I bring Takao's journal closer to my heart. I can't imagine what's going on at home right now, I didn't even think of them when this madness started. God, I hope everyone's okay, I hope-

Wait a second, what was that?

"Did you see that?"

"See what?" Lancer immediately appears by my side, Archer grudgingly following. I turn and point so I'm more direct with the flicker. "That, over there. See, there it goes again!"

"There _what_ goes again?" Diarmuid's a little frustrated: I feel like a beautifully superior being because of this. I open my mouth to repeat the same stupid thing, but Archer cuts me off.

"That flicker of the lights." As per usual, it's not a question – it's an assertion. I nod and lean a little closer, as if it will help me hone my eyesight a little better. Archer stands at full height and turns further right. "The lights are flickering all around us. About sixteen clicks away, give or take."

"In simpleman's terms, if you may."

"Someone's doing something," I turn to look at Lancer, hesitation in my eyes, "I think it's for our attention, and I don't think its good. There's a lot of panic down there. The lights are only going out for seconds at a time, but people on the street are collecting around them. Whoever's causing this keeps doing it. People will catch on that something's up."

Archer agrees and adds to my point. "The pattern fluctuates, and we are at the center of the activity." He turns back to Lancer, who nods in silent agreement.

So, of course the normal person here has to ask the stupid questions!

"What's the plan?"

"_You_ stay here." Lancer looks down at me with all of the seriousness his luxurious face can muster. "If this is occurring in every direction surrounding us, chances are they know we are within the boundary. I'd be surprised if it wasn't a bounded field of some sort. I'll take to North and South of the building, is this agreeable, Red man?"  
Archer hesitates, glancing quickly at me before his twin swords glisten in his ready hands; I almost get the feeling he's looking forward to this, but why was he apprehensive? "I do not want to let this girl out of my sight. I will stay here to protect her while-"

"If only one of us seeks this aggravation out," Lancer's eyes are cool, like a teacher not taking crap from a student, but on a more intense level, if you know what I mean. "Then they will likely recognize our notions. If we divide and act quickly, this will take no longer than fifteen minutes."

Archer stands silently. Its not like he was addressing me after all – I don't get a say in anything. "No longer than fifteen minutes. If anything bad happens, use that shield," He commands, glaring at me. I don't know what to do other than nod, and he leaps out of sight over the edge of the skyscraper.

Diarmuid crouches beside me before he too leaves. He initially reaches to put a hand on my shoulder, but retracts to lean on his red staff with a soft smile. "Please, do not hesitate to attempt contacting us. Protect yourself at all costs – despite what that man may relay, you are of the utmost value in this dire situation. Do you understand?"

Again, I am silent. He stretches up, almost high enough to tame the clouds above, and turns back to me one last time as his feet linger on the edge of the building.

"If… if this mayhem was brought upon your innocent world by _my_ curse… so it shall be, the last time Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, may be summoned forward by this accursed Grail."

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* * *

**I don't know if you guys remember this, but in the long moments of Lancer's death, he cursed the Grail.**

**He wont show it here, but he feels somewhat responsible for whats going on. He'll talk about it later.**

**(I'm gonna be away from civilization for a while, sorry for the delay that will be coming up. The next chapter's a good one, I promise!)**


	15. Enter the Darkness

In the darkness, silence weighs the heart a lot more than it would in a jubilant atmosphere. No, I don't understand diddly-doo of the situation I'm in, and Archer's not too much on the right side of good company, but… without the two of them here? I curl up on the ground.

_I wish I could have convinced them to stay_.

I rub Takao's moleskin between my thumb and forefinger before tracing its edges gently. I softly put it in the inside jacket pocket on my right breast and cup the shield in my hand; even now it purrs. Wait a minute, how did Archer know that was a shield? He must have seen it when he came to rescue me.

Its _only_ fifteen minutes. They're gonna come back in twelve, exchange information, and do it again. It makes sense that they'd divide and conquer, but now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure Archer was hesitant to leave me; mixed signals, to the max with that man. He'll go off on how I'm nothing more than a burden, but refuse to let me leave his sight… is there something he isn't telling me? Maybe I can go with one of them next time. Maybe if I let Archer carry me, he'll let me go.

_Yeah, I'll try that angle when they get back_. My new resolve helps me stand up, and I bundle my jacket tighter around me as the breeze drifts up and over the building. As I watch the lights around me, I can't help but look for a pattern in the flickering.

One-tap-two-tap-tap-three-loooooooong tap-four-tap-tap-five-

Wait a sec.

Tap… tap code.

... . .-.. .-.. - -..- / -... .-.. . . -.. .. -. -. / .- - .-. .-.. -..

Hiro used to play this game with me when we were little; he was so gung-ho about those American crime shows, and one of them (the hot blond, of course) decoded an invisible language called "Hat-code." We tried it out, realized it was "_Tap_ Code," and tried to teach ourselves. Takao bought us a book: it was my favorite book in second grade.

..-. ..- .. / -.- ..- - -.. / . ... -..- / . .-. .. ... / -.- ..- - -..

Oh, oh dear God. I need them back, I need them back _now_.

It's a trap, I'm sure of it.

.. -. / - - -. .. -... ..- ... / .-. . -.- ..- .. . - / -.- ..- .- . ... .. ...- .. -..- / . - / -. ..- ... -.- ..- .- - / .. -. ...- . -. .. / -. .. ... .. / .. -. / .- -. -. ..- .-.. - / -.-. ..- - / .-.. .. -... .-. -

Oh God.

I've never been this far from the ground before. Like, never ever. I've still got nine minutes, it's not like anything will happen in those thirteen minutes, right?

I stand up and hug myself tightly as I walk to the edge of the rooftop. The fading light catches the many windows, giving of a reflection that could pass for a moment staring into the sun.

_Anything is possible right now_, I think, stepping on to the edge. _Archer and Lancer had better come back soon._

"Another step my dear, and the poor doorman beneath you will be forced into a reality 'ne'er sought."

I spin around, legs apart like Archer, ready to fight. I'm still bundled tightly so I doubt I'm very threatening looking, but I scowl at the person hiding on the other side of the square space here in heaven.

"Who the hell are you? You better know, I've… I've got powerful friends!"

"Ah marry, the two seeking the cause of the electricity influxes." The voice isn't soft like Lancer's, and it's not sarcastic like Archer's: no, this guy is serious and almost… _lecturing_? "They are undoubtedly sharp and quick-witted, but I believe their initial absence is crucial f'r our salvation."  
He steps closer and out of the shadow on the opposite side of the building. He's dressed in a traditional way, with an overcoat too big for his small shoulders, and a simple tie draping down his oddly simple chest, tucked behind a vest of some sort. His face is… polite, and his body petite. I think I'm easily about as tall as him, and as you know I'm a little shy of average. His hands are clasped behind his back, giving him the look of a glorified young man raised rotten by the spoils of money. His leggings are a little too short for comfort, but hey, whatever.

Actually, no! No "_whatever_!" What the hell is this guy doing here? Don't tell me he's the flipping mastermind behind all of this death! I grind my teeth and pull my hands out of my coat, fists at ready to fight him till the end (or, preferably, until my superhero bffs return).

He smiles wide, instantly looking about ten years younger than he probably is, and pulls the glove off his right hand. "I understand that the custom in this country is to bow, but I prefer a human being capable of adapting to the situation around them. And thus," He extends a hand, smile still massively puppy-like, "how art thou, maiden, on this wonderf'l night?"

I can't read him. If I try to increase all of my senses at once, none of them will really perk up that much. If I try hard enough, I could nullify my senses and jump from the building, but just because I can't feel the concrete doesn't mean I wont die. I step back in my hesitation and-

"Whoa, careful!" The young man lashes out to grab me before I tip over the building's edge. His blond hair illuminates off the many windows beneath us, and his green eyes glisten intently. "It would behoove of thou to not depart this reality, as it wouldst appear ye are essential to the wellbeing of this said reality. Ah, _inter spem et metum_! I would be in the greatest of danger if you retire from this life."

"Oh, _please_," I hiss, pushing against him like I did Archer on the gravel beach; unlike Archer, the man is forced to take a few steps back to stay balanced. He pulls at his coat once he regains his composure and brushes off some dirt. "My precious child, we must make haste with this conversation, a point has yet to be made. I am-"

"Child?! _Child_? Look who's talking, we could… we could be the same age! How old are you? _Who_ are you? And what do you mean by the 'greatest of danger'? Why are you in danger now? And what's with the fancy-ass English?"

"English? Preposterous!" He takes another step back, shock in his dim green eyes; apparently, I've insulted his royal majesty. "English is but a language derived of the ingraft man in attempt to raise himself to the gates of the Ranker King! While I was born with this commoner's tongue, Latin is, t'with contrast, the language of the divine." He whisks out a hand and holds it up as if caressing a rose. "In simple man's terms, _sola lingua bona est lingua mortua. _However, you must fail to understand what I am telling you. However so this truth may appear, you did catch my numeric expressions, did you not?"

"Answer my questions first, then I'll answer yours." I growl.

He smiles again and pulls some glasses out of his right breast pocket. From his backside comes a handkerchief, and he starts massaging his glasses like an evil mastermind would some damn cat. "I was intrigued upon manifestation at the development of the world I left behind, but alas it hath yet to triumph the chains of reality. However, this language of sound was easy to understand – oh, how useful such a toy shouldst be in war! – and yea easier to convert to sight. But alas, compromise will not come to the weary." He folds up his handkerchief and puts on his glasses before taking an exaggerated bow. "I am Henry Jekyll, doctorate of biological sciences and master, of, oh how do I put it in today's terminology? I am a master of the beasts of the night, the… the beings that 'go bump'? Yes, I am a master of the things that go 'bump in the night'. Does this suffice?"

"What are you…" Wait a second. I don't have to ask what he's doing here, he's a Servant, a spirit just like Archer and Lancer! I pick up my chin a little, proud of myself for understanding some shit around me. _Finally, I've got my act together_. "What Servant class are you?"

"Ah, well, that appears to be our problem." He blushes and stutters momentarily. It's almost like catching him with his hand in his mother's cookie jar by the way he's reacting. He wrongs his hands tightly before extending them both out to me as he speaks. "You… you see, I am not particularly fond of that question. Haply we can get to wot each other better… if you first seek a different answer-?"

"If you wont answer it, then we're done." I cross my arms to emphasize that I'm the one in power here. His outspread arms slowly fall to his side as a pained expression flickers onto his face. "Ah… ah, ah well. I am here under the pretense of the Berserker class. I-"

"Berserker?" I can't say I know what that means, but this little cracker is in **no** way a berserker-ish dude. I mean, I know I'm no fighter, but **I** could probably take him down.

_What kind of a heroic spirit _is_ this?_

"What do you want from me?" I ask, cutting him off again. The pain on his face falls away as he looks intently at me. "If you truly understood what my hidden code was, then you should be competent enough to understand my presence."

I unfold my arms. "You want my brother's moleskin." Dr. Henry nods, compassion knotting at his brow. "Yes… I, I am dearly sorry about thy beloved departed. His loss wilt weigh heavily on you… but sentiments aside, I wot that journal is the source of knowledge in this situation. I have not the time to research the matter at hand to the extent thy fallen sibling hath, thus I require it to resolve this global calamity." He speaks quickly, obviously aware of the situation he's in.

"Global?" I didn't know this was happening across the world. How many Holy Grails are there?

The man opens his mouth again but nothing comes out; instead, a seriousness marries his young face as he whips around, arms out as if to protect me. His overcoat drapes him like a black king's cape on the chessboard; even now, I can't help but wonder who this guy _really_ is.

I have to peek around him to see Lancer standing sideways on a ledge opposing us: I have never seen his face so… rigid! _He looks as pissed as Archer_! He pulls a staff out in front of him, between himself, Dr. Jekyll, and me.

"This is your only warning, _gentleman_." His luscious voice barks, rage (and… is that a crack of despair?) flowing from his throat. The blond man takes a step forward and pronates his wrists, offering his hands up in prayer to the newcomer. "Oh, you see, this is but a misunderstanding! I am not the foe tonight, I am but a messenger of the divine. With God as my judgment, _Veritas Lux Mea. _Greetings, noble knight. How fairs the land thou scour'd?_"_

Lancer ignores his question. He keeps watch on the man but addresses me. "Ms. Hashimoto, has this man harmed you in _any_ way?"

"Nnnnnn-no, but Lancer please-" Wait, why am I defending this creep? My hands are drawn to my face in worry. He came out of nowhere, and there's a hell of a lot I don't know about him. Berserker draws back, closer to me, in my hesitation. I frown at him, if nothing else, the most confused that I've been the entire night.

I step back and on to the rim of the ledge again, but bump softly into the wide chest of my scarlet savior. I look up at him, startled but instantly safer in my own skin. He grips me on the shoulder and I step closer to him for reassurance. He squeezes slightly, whether intentional or subconsciously, I couldn't tell you.

"Berserker, is it? If I heard you correctly," Dr. Jekyll spins around, a scowl on his young face, "then you should clearly understand why you should be dead to us."

"What? Why?" I can't help it, I have to ask! Archer doesn't answer since its supposed to be obvious; he keeps his eyes locked on our newest guest. "Alliances are hard to manage, and I have already agreed to work with the green fool before you." Lancer tightens his jaw at the insult, but doesn't move otherwise. "So why should I go through the effort of attempting to work with you? Your class is infamous for a reason."

"I may be the victim of a vicious title, but I am a master of sciences - a scholar, first and foremost. Heed my words good sir, f'r I am speaking in sooth when I note my abilities in the ways of alchemy."

_Alchemy? That's a bit old-fashioned. _I look at Archer, his hard-assed face set still as he thinks over the situation we're in.

Lancer barks as he steps closer, breaking down the space between us all. "Enough! Personal skills aside, you are but a beast! You see this, Ms. Hashimoto? This _fraud_ of a man before you is marked a killer by the Holy Grail." He spits sideways, orange eyes narrowing into tiger-like slits. "To work with this mad dog would be nothing short of foolish!"

"Foolish? What…. What nonsense!" Berserker turns around, almost pleading with Lancer. From my senses, I can tell his heart rate has picked up a little… almost _dangerously _fast. "And thou assess me by the empty and unspoken words of a faceless deity? What hath the world spiral'd into post my departure?"

"Lancer-"

"No Archer, _enough_ talking. This dog is nothing to us but a piece of dark trickery waiting to happen!" He steps closer again, face tight with fury. "Nothing good comes from the treacherous. It is nothing before us; we should take it down before it reveals its true self."

"Lancer, wait." I step closer to Berserker again, hesitant and arms curled into my chest. Berserker's eyes widen as everyone focuses on my silence.

Lancer's fists get smaller. "Well? What have you to add?"

"He… he's not a dog, Lancer. We should give him the opportunity to work with us. He… he seems genuine enough. We could use the manpower, we cou-"

Diarmuid's eyes soften slightly as they focus on me. "My dear, you do not understand the man before you. That thing is a killer by raw definition. It-"

"Well, aren't _you_? That's what soldiers are."

That _hurt_ him, physically. Lancer recoils as if I've slapped him across the face, then refocuses, his intensity peeked. "Enough. We are not here to leave behind what we believe in. To fight is one thing, but to carelessly toss aside your ideals for the sake of winning is another!"

"We aren't tossing anything aside!" I throw back. "If he wanted to hurt me like Saber or that Nightmare lady, then he would have. Instead, he had a conversation with me." I glance sideways at Dr. Jeykll, pain creeping on his brow in the tight spot he's in. I turn around to face Archer. "That alone should make enough sense that he's on our side here. He wanted to moleskin, not me, and was willing to talk to me about it. Give the man a break and hear him out."

I wait for someone to stop me, but no one interjects. Archer sighs. "Well, anything to add, Berserker?"

He smiles, lowering his protective arms slightly. "_Fiducia virorum in sinistra non in dextra est. _I may not be a real man by definition, f'r I am Icarus by design. Howev'r my complexion may form before thou, my intentions art true._" _He turns around fully to face Archer. "I hast nay intention of killing this young woman. She is key to re-writing the infrastructure of the Holy Grail, after all, and we art but dead men trying to find ourselves six feet under once more."

"How do you know her relevance?" Archer demands.

"Think about it. The novel's energy signature is an imprint of her dearly departed's, is it not?" He turns to me, eyes piercing with question, face bright with anticipation. "It reacts to her because she carries his karyotype, his genetics."

"Genetics weren't around during your time," Archer muses, a brow raised. Dr. Jekyll grins. "Perhaps not in the current of the time, but alas knowledge is a wave of perseverance of the mind. Success is but an idea, as action is the fruit of ideas." He winks at me. "Did you hear that one? Record it as you may, for that was an original." Again, he tugs at the edges of his overcoat to straighten it out and pulls some small glasses out of his breast pocket. "If thou would honor me so, Madam Hashimoto, I would appreciate the opportunity to take a glance at thy brother's _novella_."

I glance around – Lancer's nothing short of pissed, and Archer is curious.

It's my brother's book. It's my decision.

And I decide.

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**So, here's Berserker!**

**Minor research suggests that the life expectancy in the 19th century, which the story **_**The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde**_** occurs in, suggests that a well-aged man would be about fifty years. Regeneration on the cellular level is a lot of where his Berserker ability comes from, so I imagine that his "human" or "totally normal" version would keep him shaping back into the peek of his life, which would equate to be about his twenties. That would set this Dr. Jekyll pretty young, a lot like his Prototype counterpart.**

**The funky italics and the Morse codes are Latin expressions. I suggest you look them up if you want to understand the story better. I'm pretty sure you can actually punch in Morse code somewhere to translate it.**

**For plot purposes, I shifted his character a little. I haven't actually read Fate/Prototype (actually, I haven't read any of the Fate series, only seen **_**Fate/Zero**_** and /**_**Unlimited Blade Works, **_**don't shun me plz) but he appears to be pretty collected there. So I tweaked him a little more to follow the bipolarism he suffers from. You'll be seeing that more in the future.**

**One of the hardest things about writing this chaos is fitting the characterization to the time of the actual character. I've been in the midst of researching Shakespeare and old English novelists, so this is my take on how the good doctor would speak. Below are some comments, if you had a hard time with them, and their meaning:**

***Retire = "die" – through true etymology, 'to retire' literally means 'to die'; so no, she's not off to get a final paycheck.**

***Ingraft = "common"**

***Ranker = "greater"**

***Haply = "perhaps"**

***Wot = "to know" – he suggests here that the two get to know one another before he has to explain the situation.**

***Alchemy = "magic" – an actual term still recognized today, but sometimes confusing. Alchemy refers to the research and study of things supernatural; usually implying magic, but not always.**

***Hast nay = "have none"**

*** Heed = "take into consideration" – literally, 'listen up, my point is valid'.**

*** Post = "after" – **_**post**_** itself is a Latin root for '**_**after'**_** a given event. Post Paternum, Post Hoc, etc.**

*** Current of the time = "mainstream" – Dr. Jekyll insists that he knew more about the genetic make-up of his fellow man better than most, that he knew more than "mainstream science."**

***Novella = "short story" or "small book" – actually a term used today. Idk how many people have taken Analytical English though… I don't recommend the class**

*** Icarus – a boy highlighted in the Greek legend of **_**Icarus and Daedalus. **_**He learned to fly but became so full of himself, the higher he went (and the closer to the gods, as the metaphor extends), the more dangerous the situation. He died… look him up, it's a good story.**


	16. Veritas

We moved from the top of the building to a forest more inland; one that, on the mountainside, could easily be a bird of prey's nest to overlook the city.

Reluctantly, I let Archer carry me. He and Lancer talked some more and even consulted Berserker before setting their eyes on this green piece of land (they wanted to know if his ability would work on the move). As Lancer went ahead to ensure the route was safe, Berserker flanked my scarlet savior, ready to take off. I was hesitant and tugged unnecessarily at my sleeves – _what the hell is his problem anyway? Besides, I'm sure I could walk there, if I had access off this damn roof. Maybe Berserker will do it? _– etc. Archer stands waiting arrogantly beside me as I come to my conclusion. I wring my hands as the sun falls, watching it and prin-picking individual gleams of the diamond-studded water.

Dr. Jekyll steps to stand beside me, oblivious to the blistering friction between Archer and I… _I wonder if he could see the steam rolling off my head or the sparks flickering off Archer_. Berserker smiles gleefully, which rubs me the wrong way.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" I growl, eyeballing the happy kitten. He beams. "I am new to this day and age," He confirms, a smile still stretches across his face, "but the glory of recognition is timely universal." I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, whatever." I trace Archer as he hawkeyes Lancer. My resent leaves me silent for another minute.

"Have you ever seen with eyes not your own?"  
I finally turn, full-body, facing Berserker, arms folded. "What's that mean?"  
"You may take it as you like," He beams wider, his soft, almost feather-like hair whisping in the wind. "The ability to recognize a need beyond one's mindset is a strength alone. Tell me, do you want to stay up here once night truly lays down across the land?"  
A breeze stirs violent wind as I look Berserker down from the corner of my eye. He keeps smiling and rebuttons his cuffs. "Nonetheless, our commality here is singular and frail. Proper comrades are hard to come across, and to test them?" He raises his brows as he looks down, adjusting his gloves, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Well, les we forget the riotous haf lost to the cruel hand of predigest."

I watch him carefully. Its probably in my best interest to not bluntly tell him_ I don't understand shit_, but he's got a point somewhere tangled in that mess. We shouldn't be here, and I shouldn't be whats keeping the team back.

Are we a team? I look back at Archer, the crimson statue unmoved. I didn't notice until now that he watches the land with some… oh my god, does he actually have emotions?

He watches the land with some sort of nostalgia in his eyes – they almost look wistful, those angry eyes of his. I turn and look blankly out to where he faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of whom he really is.

The breeze stirs again, and I sigh reluctantly. We don't exchange words as I approach him, and he stoops low to gently pick me up. He's careful about where he puts his hands this time, hoisting me in places where he's sure to not touch my skin. He doesn't need any help carrying me, but I put my arms around his neck for my own security. Archer almost smiles. Almost.

"Ready?"

"Lets hope so."

He bounds away, springing from one building to the next. Berserker is caught off-guard and scampers to catch up, but once he's beside us the struggle doesn't seem to end. Compared to Archer, Berserker tends to run on all fours across buildingtops, or at least when he's desperate to catch up to us; nonetheless, he has a stupid smile on his face, and we catch up to Lancer in no time.

It… I wont say it was an enjoyable ride – no, being carried by someone you don't know isn't the most comfortable experience – but it was dazzling to say the very least. Every time he neared a surface, I was sure we'd run splat into it.

But we didn't.

I can't say everything can experience flying, but that's the closest to flying I think ill ever get.

* * *

Lancer seemed more at ease when we arrived and instantly insisted he and Archer talk. Archer was reluctant, but did so without much hesitation. He set me down gently brushed past Berserker hastily before turning around.

"Don't forget what you have in your pocket, girl." I wave him away as Berserker watches the space grow between them and us. We're silent at first, and his small back is to me.

"Thank you, my dear."

"For what?"

"You stood up for me back there. You had no reason to, and yet you did. I thank you for your compassion to your fellow man."

"Don't push it," I growl, hastily pulling out Takao's book. "If anyone can decode what he wrote, it isn't us. You're our next best option, and I'm willing to hear you out as long as you are willing to work honestly. Fair trade?"

"Indeed." He bows deeply, a smile stretched across his puckish face. It's hard to imagine this guy is some sort of killer, especially one that would make Archer and Lancer apprehensive. Berserker gingerly takes the book from me and walks backwards into a tree to lean against. I peek at the two warriors conversing a little ways off and see Archer drop his arms as we make eye contact; its almost a _what did he do to you?_ type of notion, as if he'd come and sweep me off my feet again. He re-assesses the situation however and flickers his attention back to Lancer, whose emerald back is to me. I kick at an overgrown tuft of grass stupidly before waltzing over to Berserker to hover and watch him work.

I pegged him as a guy who didn't enjoy simple people like me hovering over his shoulder, but he didn't pay any notice. He waves his hand over a page and it flickers to life, just to have it die out like a fleeting moment. He cups his chin, mumbles something, and tries again. I sit down beside him before too long, arms wrapped around my legs as I look up at the dark sky.

It's been a little while since this whole trip started. The wound on my forehead has healed over (surprisingly), and the stars are starting to peek out. It doesn't take long before a sigh triggers a painful reality.

What is going on at home right now? Do they think I ran away? I should have grabbed my phone before this whole episode started. I wont have any proof that this happened either, as long as I don't have a few pictures or something. No one will believe me when I get home.

_If_ I get home. I turn my head to watch Lancer and Archer again, deep in conversation, Archer's face screwed tight as always. What's Hiro doing right now? Mom? Dad?

I start to try and hone in on what the two of them are saying, but for some stupid reason I reel it back in.

Maybe I'm nice, after all. I probably shouldn't hear whatever the have to say, right?  
Its not like that's ever stopped me before. Besides, who knows if they're talking about me?

"Right, Miss Hashimoto?"

I jump several inches out of my skin at the touch of Berserker's hand on my shoulder. He smiles, oblivious (more likely irritated) to the fact that I wasn't listening to a word he said.

"Uh, sorry?"  
His eyes are closed as he holds his smile. He sighs to keep his composure. "I was saying that you are lucky to have such powerful friends here. You must be close to them."

"Not really. I hardly know them."

"Ah, so you are trusting instead of allknowing. Quit the admirable quality."  
"Its more like I don't know any better." I reply earnestly with a shrug; for some reason, he's easy to talk to. Its… its almost like he _isn't_ some resurrected spirit here to fight to the death. "I kind of got thrown into this mess, its not like I can choose what happens to me from here on out. Curiosity killed the cat, after all."

"Curiosity is not armed, my friend. _Virtute non armis fido_ – retain your virtues, and all will be well." He makes a point to trace his finger over the blank pages. "Your dearly beloved trusted in his own virtue and put valuable information out of reach of battle-hungry arms. He knew to keep the world at bay and used his abilities to do just that."

We are silent for a minute as I tilt my head back up to the dark sky. "I… I don't… can I ask you something? An honest question? Don't judge me for it."

He bows his head, out of the corner of my eye. "_Ex voto_, I vow to never look down upon you. Please, speak to your hearts content."

I wait so I can best wrap my thoughts around my words. "Do you… I mean… I don't know what's going on here anymore. There's a Holy Grail and there's a big war fought over it. All of you spirits are brought to the present day to fight for others, people here today. It doesn't seem very fair to you, since the mages don't actually fight, right? It's a game of cat and mouse, I guess, and it seems like all I'm good for is running away and knowing _crap_. At least proper masters know how to handle the situation." I burrow my chin between my knees and mumble, ears burning slightly in embarrassment. "I wish I knew how to help. I wish I could actually fight."

"Strength alone does not win wars." He responds vaguely as he turns another blank page. "But I agree with you. I always felt weak as a man in my skin: burdened, and purely _unable_." I peek over to see him now watching the stars; his eyes are absurdly bright, almost golden. "Knowing how the world danced through space never seemed to be enough. War is like life – it is but a dangerous game for those not prime."

"But that's how you became a Heroic Spirit, right? Because you knew so much? Doesn't that make you super strong in your own right?"

"Oh no, knowledge is undoubtedly power. But," Berserker lifts a pianist finger and _tatata's_ his head. "When you're trapped in the same walls for a long time, the walls of information shape to fit a cage."

I wrap my arms tighter around my legs and peer at him, confusion written across my face. "I don't quite get what you just said."

"Knowledge, or human capitol, is a treasure unlike any other. However," He blushes and finally looks me in the eyes. "The palace of the mind hath its limits. Any prison works the same. At first, one hates the walls surrounding the soul – then, after decades of suffering, those walls melt into the individual's epidermis. To live, a bird, without the bars of its cage, after doing so f'r its own personal eternity, is to tender it wings of no use. Freedom is a nonsought vessel for Life's weary souls. Any prisoner, either of state 'r of war, will tell thou that."

"Were you a prisoner?" I can't help but ask. He beams at me, a bashful smile. "Of a sorts, indeed. Thou may yea suggest that I still am. The palace of the mind is an easy place to get lost in, and as a scholar…" He scratches his head and adjusts his glasses. "Well, you couldst almost say it's a scholar's duty to wander those very halls for eternity. The other me would, of course, deny my words, but alas the truth… well, _Multi famam, conscientiam, pauci_ _verentur_, after all. My imprisonment is the simple truth that I am of the few."

I shake my head. "Sorry, I don't know Latin."

He chuckles cheekily like an elementary student that just told a repulsive joke. "No matter the words I do nor do not speak, recognize this truth, fair lady: the mind is the most magnificent of tools, and it is a tool under your discretion." He leans closer to me, eyes bugging with intensity. "Do not permit it control over you, understood?"

I lean back and look away – all of a sudden, the space between us was pretty much nothing. I'm as close as ever to punching him in the face, and I look away, heat rushing to my cheeks. He laughs, eyes shut tight in the effort of humoring himself. "Ah, _clarere audere gaudere_! Do not let this war nor the world take heed over you. Thy life is yours and yours alone." He runs a hand through his hair and looks at me squarely. "Simply put, _clarere audere gaudere_: be bright, joyful, and daring. Always."

I stare back at him blankly as a silence settles between us, and he rolls back on his haunches, laughing like a madman. "You're a piece of work, you know that, right?"

His hilarity leaves him unable to reply for a few moments. "Ah, well, like most, _Meliora Cogito_! There is no rest for the wicked, after all! Every moment is but that, a flickering moment!" For an instant, I almost seen how he can be a Berserker – he's so… unpredictable, yet predictably predictable. Like a kid on a playground: you know he's just jumping for the next chance to do something stupid. I force a small and uncomfortable chuckle, but my curiosity keeps its grasp on me. "Say… I know that Heroic Spirits are people from the world's past that are… well, you know, amazing in some way. I get that you're super smart, but what makes you a warrior? Aren't all Heroic Spirits fighters… at least to some extent?"

He beams again, a child once more in a land long gone, and runs a hand up his face to press his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Well, I may not be proud of it, but a Berserker is a Berserker. My…" He stops and looks down, suddenly embarrassed, "My… other me, so to speak, is much more of a fighter than myself. Knowledge is my sword as his might is his own. My my, look at me, I must refrain from sounding like such a fool to a fair maiden like you." He chuckles awkwardly and looks at me, eyes suddenly yellow-tinted and not aligned. "Besides! When the world is telling you to keep quiet and that your mind is wrong to every extent – alas, have you heard another tell you your worth is minuscule? Or that your work is invalid? Oh, the best was how my life was thrown away and that I would never find the pleasure in the body of another – oh, how wrong they were!" He laughs, head thrown back as he heaves too and fro.

I'm a little creped out, to be honest. I can hear Archer stepping closer to us and I can practically see a scowl marrying his face, but I pick up my hand and hold it in a _stop. _He doesn't do it at first, but I whip around to mouth a quick "_its okay_."

Berserker's in his own reality right now: he doesn't notice a thing. He's laughing so hard I can see strings of saliva erupt from his cackling face.

"Hahaho! Oh how wrong they were! Oh, I found my pleasure in the bodies of many, to speak the absolute truth! Oh, how I found that warmth so luscious! So marvelous! And to kill, oh how that was an experience I shall never forget!" He straightens back up to look at me, slowly leaning forward so he's as close to me as possible. The yellow hint in his eyes glisten in the darkness, and I can't help but feel slightly threatened. He finally catches on to the awkwardness of the situation, and falls back to balance on his folded legs. He keeps chuckling and grabs his hair in the fistfuls. "Ah, as marvelous as it was, the terror in their eyes was most extraordinary! To have those who harassed me so relentlessly, colleagues included, on the tips of their horror, ready to fall back into their own monstrosities! Ah, hahaho!" He suddenly drops his head and his shoulders heave. The silence is disturbed by Archer planting himself behind me. Berserker's eyes open, wistful and somehow miserable, as his hands fall to his sides. "Tell me, do you understand the expression _Cuius testiculos habeas, habeas cardia et cerebellum?" _I shake my head, Archer behind me with a hand on my shoulder. Berserker looks at the both of us, tight fists clenched at his sides. The yellow is gone, his sanity returned. "Then thank your God, and pray you never do."

.

.

.

* * *

*tender = offer

**Well, _tempus fugit_! This was originally two separate updates but the first was just a transition and awful short, plus I've had you guys wait a while this go-round. I'm headed to Costa Rica for a few weeks, but I"m ahead of schedule so we should be fine.**

**Believe it or not, the stage has almost been completely set. Just a few more updates left before we get to the showdown - this adventure's almost over.**

**As always, I really, really appreciate comments.**


	17. Off-shot: Between a Rock and a Love Spot

**As much as I love little moments like these, I really dont think that this fits the mode. Still, I thought it might be bad to pass up, and transitions help with the flow of the story... and I'm a sucker for how well this played out XP.**

**Off-shots are unnecessary chapters that dont necessarily contribute to the story. **

**Pretend it isn't here, unless your looking for a moment with Lancer. The real deal will be up either tomorrow or the day after. **

* * *

.

.

.

Archer set himself between Berserker and me the moment the doctor's eyes faded to normal. He looked so… down-trodden, so depressed, as Lancer led me away, a gentle, guiding hand on my shoulder. I look up at him and see a vague, disappointed look in earnest, and instantly I feel like a child who earned a proper scolding.

"He wasn't doing anything."

"The situation said otherwise."

"He was just explaining stuff to me."

Lancer rubs his eyes with his free hand. "Miss Hashimoto, you are tied to the Holy Grail. We do not understand the situation we are in, but we cannot allow a menace like that to bring harm upon you. No, let me take that back." He stops walking and holds me by both shoulders. "As a knight, I cannot allow you to fall into harm's way. You are innocent of whatever crimes we as individuals have brought forth to this realm. You are not to blame for the world around us, yet you are a part of the situation. It is our duty to protect you, now that you are involved. Do you understand why that husk of a man makes me worried?"

"Yeah, but he's not-"

"I don't know what _that_ _thing_ is," Diarmuid turns over his shoulder to eye the man still sitting on the ground. His orange eyes dance in the fading light. "I do not know what that beast _is_ and _is not_. All I do know is that we have yet to trust him."

"I trust him."

"Why do you say that?" He turns back to face me; he looks just as frustrated as he does worried. "What could compel you to say that?"

"It's the same reason I can trust you. He doesn't want to hurt me, he wants to find a way to… to end whatever the hell is happening here. Isn't that enough?"

We stand in silence. I can hear Archer murmuring with Berserker.

"Lancer. Lancer… is that what you prefer to be called? Archer calls you that. Can I ask you something?" His beautiful face softens and turns slightly. "You may address me in any way you see fit. What is on your mind?"

For some stupid reason, I can't look him in the eyes. "Why… why am I a part of this? Because I recited some stupid… _spell_?"

Lancer watches me quietly. My ears burn in embarrassment –_ he must think I'm nothing more than a toddler, the way he looks at me._

"I do not know what put your brother in this situation. Perhaps it was the idea of obligation to his fellow man. Perhaps he simply wanted to summon the Holy Grail for himself. Whatever happened to him… happened." Diarmuid Ua Duibhne softly cups my chin; the instant he touches me, I'm overwhelmed with the flaming desire to be held by him.

He quickly pulls his hand away, looking back at Archer and Berserker. "I was made aware of your brother the instant every fellow Servant was, yet I was too far to act on any ideal of my own. If I had been in closer range, I may have been able to combat your brother's fate. Fate has a mysterious way of managing the life on this planet. Perhaps everything simply happens on its own uncalled-for accord. Perhaps every action is a part of a larger act of a silent god. Whatever the case, we are here today - is that not compelling enough to walk forward?"

"Takao died doing the same thing I did, yet I'm here and he's not." I growl desperately, unable to control my thoughts._ Why am I even talking to him? He's a legend, living and breathing! I have _no_ right to be here!_

"The moment you attached yourself to the Holy Grail, every servant was made aware of your presence. You make for quite the Master, young miss Hashimoto. You are here because some of us are kindred in spirit and seek to protect our ideals." He watches Archer apprehensively. "Some of us, so it would seem, carry chivalry close."

"I'm not a Master! I'd be one hell of a sad excuse of a Master!"

"Why is that?" He looks up, leans over so his face is closer to mine, and points to the newborn stars in bleak night. I can feel his breath on my skin. "Do you see those… things? In my time, they were but guidelines filled with fables. Today, man plans to explore the heavens and beyond."

"Wait, how do you know that?"

"Every servant is made aware of the present time once they materialize." He smiles at me. "It has not been long since I was here last in this day and age, but I still marvel at the progression around me. Those stars once were the only tools man had to explore the darkness – today, you have an infinite array of weaponry to explore and conquer the world, yet the stars still remain." I look at him; there's a faint, fatherly gleam in his eyes. "And as they once led mankind, they now simply brighten up the fearless wandering in the dark. Leaders come in all forms, Miss Hashimoto, just as Masters do." He catches me staring at him and draws back, a wicked, beautiful smile prying at the corners of his lips.

"Masters are mages," I try again, "Masters at least know what they're doing. Hell, they even sign up for the Holy Grail, _willingly_!"

"And did one force you to explore the contents of that novel? Did you act out of another's accord, and not your own?"

"… well, no. Bu-"

"But nothing. You, Miss Hashimoto, are just as qualified to be here as the rest of us. We thus have every reason to protect you.

I could have stayed like that forever, just staring at the stars beside that wonderful man.

Its cold outside when you're alone.


	18. Forward

"Here is my assessment," Berserker lays out the book between our collected band of misfits. Thee pages are blank – apparently the scab wasn't enough this last go' round. I reach down to sit but glance up to awkwardly see both Archer and Lancer standing, arms folded, still as reluctant as hell to bother with this guy. So I stand unenthusiastically at my place beside Archer.

Berserker doesn't notice.

"The only vary this journal allows the world access to its contents is thorough exposure to its original proprietor's blood. Unfortunately, we are restricted to a somewhat similar karyotype, and it only allows exposure to the pages for a brief lapse."

"We know that already," Lancer notes dully, eyes on me (and my cheeks ravishingly red, thanks to his dashing/passive-aggressive looks). Berserker rubs his chin and adjusts his glasses. "Ah, well, yes, indeed you do. But have you prior knowledge on the incantation?" Berserker's keen blue-green eyes fall on me. "The incantation by your brother was nearly perfect, but still royally flawed in the same context as the parameter of the moleskin."

I don't quite follow, and Berserker notices this immediately.

"I was intending to, in every honesty, hopefully derive a way that we could handle this situation without involving you. I apologize," He turns to the other Servants "But I cannot find a way to prevail without the continued involvement of her young presence."  
"Wait, you're trying to get rid of me?" I'm not shocked really, but embarrassed and somewhat pissed. _Why am I so mad right now? It's totally justified…_

"The Caster of this madness sent two to kill you. We can't abandon you back on your doorstep and expect you to live," Lancer reasons, sharp, jasper eyes still on Takao's journal, "But is we can prevent you from entering the battle field, that would be ideal."  
"What, you think I can't defend myself?"  
"Idiot girl, you _can't_ defend yourself." Archer's sharp tongue lashes out, his eyes closed as he grips his biceps tightly. "You would do nothing but hold us back, which, apparently, we're stuck with because your idiot brother-"  
"Don't you dare insult Takao!" I shout furiously, surprising myself. "He did more than his fair share of trying to solve all of this, you-!"  
"Enough." Lancer rubs his brow, tired and frustrated by our head-butting. "Continue, Berserker."

Dr. Jekyll nods, proud of Lancer's trust in him for evasion of the awkwardness. I step away from Archer, steam blowing out my ears.

"In the same sense, the incantation is a parody of the original summoning for the Holy Grail War. Since he devised the incantation, he was able to embed his personal mana into it. Putting it into words is difficult, but only those carrying his genotype are capable of accurately casting the spell. An imprint, forsay, to prevent the incantation from falling into the wrong hands. So, if I were to repeat it verbatim, nothing will occur."

Since no one has any questions, he continues.

"Now, our present mistress is plausibly capable of casting the incantation, but alas it itself is imperfect. The one responsible for this mayhem has, in a metaphoric sense, placed a lock on the Grail itself. Now, as we are all Servants, byproducts of the Grail, the incantation registered within us, as we are materialized here not by individual Masters, but by the energy stimulated by the Grail. In all likelihood, the tie the binds you to the Grail is also what is allowing us all to know your location."

"So, if I'm getting this right," I kneel beside him and inspect the blank pages. "Takao's spell didn't shut down or… counteract the Grail… instead it… it impacted every Servant that was summoned?"  
"Yes – not entirely, but accurately." He smiles fondly, a teacher proud of his student. "It must have had a particular effect on the caster of this madness, but alas I cannot simply ask them what it is. However, it is easy to assume you impacted that person greatly."  
"Actually, now that I think about it," they all look expectantly at me. "Right after I said it, I could _almost_… I don't know… I could almost feel someone else inside my head." They all nod as if being violated on such a personal level is normal.

"Now, if this all is the case – heed me, this is but my speculations – then a pathway between yourself and the other is linked. That is how they can still tell where you are, roughly so, but with _my_ being present, they cannot pinpoint your exactly location."  
"How does that work exactly? Is it your Noble Phantasm?" Archer asks/accuses (that dick, so sure of himself).

Lancer looks patiently at me, almost as a father would. "A noble phantasm is a particularly powerful tool each of us has." He explains. I give an _ohhhhh_ and look at Berserker for his response. Of all the things, he chuckles despite himself.

"The, well, in truth it is not, but a radiating ability as a sort of side-effect of my noble phantasm. Some of my fellow men will argue that what is present is not thy true self, but alas, visions are but subject to the poet's mind's eye." He scratches his chin again, a cheeky smile on his lips. "This negative aura prevents my present location from being detected, masking me as a bystander instead of a Servant, and those within my space are inadvertently deemed invaluables as well."  
"That is an illusive characteristic of the Assassins class," Lancer muses. Dr. Jekyll shrugs. "Indeed, but I am no assassin." He runs a thin finger across the blank pages. "Now, as you are the only one who can trigger the novella to reveal itself, and you are the only one that currently holds the key closest to the original shape.

The incantation was originated through what would appear to be a blood-bond; your brother was a practical fellow, with all of these gene-related locks."  
"He didn't want anyone to cheat and steal his notes."  
"Ah, yes, the university life is a treacherous one. Well, the spell unfortunately will only work by your word."  
"So all she needs to do is repeat it, again?"  
"No – the Grail itself is still under lock and key of the mastermind behind this darkened day. All you will likely do is strengthen the pseudo-physical bond between yourself and our foe." He hands me some broken glass, and I instinctively reach to cut my fingertip. Once a fat drop silently falls to the open page, Takao's research slowly appears. "Now, I have revised your brother's incantation, but there _is_ a catch." Berserker raises his head up to look at the other Servants. "While I do not know how to perfect it, I found a way to establish a blood-driven reaction between her, the Grail, and the enemy." He pauses and pushes the journal closer to me. "If you say the incantation with my annotations, your physical contact to the enemy will render the Holy Grail and its manifestation null and void."  
"NO," Its Archer, cold as ever. "This isn't good enough. We can't let her near whoever is behind this."  
"I apologize, but alas 'tis all I can do." Berserker clearly feels taken back, but he isn't about to take shit from Archer after working so hard to be an equal on this team. A silence falls on our little circle.

_Now what?_  
"Well, something's better than nothing" I try weakly. "All I have to do is repeat your version and touch the big bad? Sounds good to me."  
"Yes well, there is a catch, as I noted before."  
Lancer kneels down, a hand on his knotted brow. "This mess is far more trouble than I initially expected," he peers up and focuses on the group's only real mage. "If what you said wasn't the catch, it is safe to assume this may be out of our current capabilities. What is it?"  
"The incantation is a summoning. In order to prepare her body circuits and her natural reserve of mana, she must do this variation; this variation, however, is a summoning. Now," He perks up before Archer can open his mouth. "We needn't summon the Servant we believe to be behind it all. Any servant will do… beyond those she has already come into physical contact with."  
"This is pointless," Archer snaps. "We have a greater chance ambushing them and taking down the mastermind alone. We don't need to attempt and involve this girl." I boil from my place on the ground; I can feel my cheeks burning up. Lancer frowns aggressively at Archer, a brow raised. "While I respect your ambition, nameless man, I respectfully disagree with you. How can the three of us take them on, without any back up? There is no doubt they have already secured some sort of stronghold for a base, and it is highly unlikely that we alone could take down Caster, if it is, indeed, Caster. I myself am no mage. They have a shadow-manipulating Assassin which I cannot name, and the most honorable and noble class, Saber, is a honorless demon clad in war intentions. I am confident in my ability, as I am a soldier unparalleled, but I am not one who can take them all down alone. Neither are you, from what I can tell, and since you refuse to tell us about yourself."  
"Telling you who I am would be nothing but a waste of time."  
"How are we to win a war without knowing our weapons?" Lancer barks, finally on his breaking point with this jackass. His orange eyes narrow. "Do you have a better plan?""  
Archer glares at us all. "There is no way we can get this idiot to touch the Caster, let alone expect to keep her safe from another Servant. And how can we trust this so-called resource?"  
"Again, do you have a better plan?" Lancer stands back up, throwing his face inches from Archer's.

Shit, its an explosive – no, it's a radioactive – battle of wits here.

"We front-force an attack on every servant that opposes us."  
"Surviving that is easier said than done," Lancer reminds Archer. "We lack any Master capable of providing medical mana to us. Besides, you barely got away from Saber on your own." His head is cocked to the side, a brow raised.

"I was testing Saber."  
"Set your pride aside, unnamed man, and face the facts. No matter the plan we agree upon, it will be a treacherous one." Argument aside, our circle falls silent.

"The servants were looking for me, right?" I venture, taking my time to look each person in the eye. "_IF_ that's the case, chances are I'm of some value to the mastermind here. But… just as a quick question, me being normal and all… haven't I met all you Servants so far? We could summon the nightmare lady or Saber and ambush them."  
"Not before they kill you; besides, a Servant must answer the summoning to appear."  
"And you, if I am correct, have yet to meet but one."  
Everyone faces Berserker. "It is safe to assume Caster is associated heavily with all of this, but what of the Rider-class Servant?"

* * *

Everyone's eyes fall deep into thought. Lancer seems considerate of the idea, head cocked and brows raised; maybe he's thinking this could actually work.

"How much time do we have to decide on this? Can any of you guys… I dunno, sense when Caster will strike next?"

"I think the biggest element of time we have to work against is our own permeability."

"Sorry?" It was Lancer that spoke last, his hand still cupping his chin, eyes lost in thought. He blinks, only partly focused on answering my question. "Servants can only last so long without Masters to supply us with prana. I have been here nearly a full day already – I can only imagine that I will retain this form for another twenty-four hours or so."

I gulp; _we have, what, a day to solve all of this_? There's no way the world can be saved in one afternoon.

I look up. The sky has reached a new level of darkness. _But if we don't act fast, then who knows what'll happen to these guys_? To _me_? They'll be gone and I'll be fighting this by _myself_? Maybe I should step out now… let someone else take over…

"You guys would just disappear?"

No one seems to hear me – I guess it's supposed to be common knowledge or something.

"In the Holy Grail War I was in, the Rider class Servant was a royal buffoon; a good man make no mistake, but a few nodes short of reasonable. Evenso," Lancer meets my eyes. "Alliancing ourselves with him would be more than beneficial."  
"There is no guarantee it is the same man summoned now," Archer argues. (I'm starting to get the impression that all Archer's good for is playing Devil's Advocate). "That would be convenient, but the Rider in my Holy War was a nuisance of a woman. She died before she formed any alliances, but she was a poor choice for a Heroic Spirit."

Berserker's head is down as he muses. "If I am correct, the Grail War I partake in actually… has yet to occur."  
"How the hell does that happen?"  
"The Grail exists between time and relative dimensions in space. Time and various realities are all… well, relative terms."  
"Then you don't know you're Rider?"  
"No… not really. Sorry." He smiles boyishly.

Again, silence.

I sigh and trace the books blank pages. "Why not?" I can feel their eyes bleed into me. "If we don't try this, it's a missed opportunity. If we do try it, there is the potential of me being killed, but that's an option anywhere you look. And this can really help in the long run if all I have to do is punch the big bad at the end of the day. Rider doesn't, as far as we know, have any association with those guys. If we fight, we fight. But it looks like a Rider-class Servant could help us out. My vote's for us going forward with this."  
"Agreed," Lancer stands up and leans on his Gae Buidhe. "It is the most logical decision."

Berserker smiles. "I am pleased to hear you accept my thinking. I will put myself on the line for this – if we succeed, we will save this time and place for me to win a day in the future."  
We all look at our resident sourpuss. "Well, Archer?"  
He pouts and turns away. Finally, he drops his arms to his sides. "Fine. But I am not letting this good-for-nothing girl out of my sight."  
"Fine, dick." I'm so tired of him, I don't even care anymore. Still, he insulted Takao. "Just keep your dirty mouth to yourself."

"What does that mean?"

"You know what I mean," Boldly, I stand and face him unflinching. "You have no right to speak so disrespectfully of my brother. You do it again and I'll-"

"You'll what? Slap my wrists? Kill me?" I hesitate, almost taking a step back.

.

Almost.

.

"I'll kill myself." I assert aggressively without thinking. Even _he_ is taken back by the suggestion. Several mouths open but nothing registers with me. I take a step closer to Archer. "You don't control me. Besides, you're hardly even real right now, let alone valuable in today's world. It doesn't matter who you are, you have no right to speak of my brother like that." I jam a thumb in my chest. "And if your _bitchy_ existence here is all about controlling me, I'm the only one with the key to that. I'll kill myself and your goal will be done for. Stop acting all high and mighty, you son of a bitch."

.

.

.

He smiles.

He turns to Berserker. "What do we need for this to work."

.

.

.

* * *

**Actual update, as promised.**


	19. Nodus Tollens

"I can't believe this is happening," I mutter more to myself than anyone else. Berserker's unusually sharp ears hear me however, and he inches closer to my face as he peers at the cereal box I'm fixated on. "What? What is happening that is so false?"

_Should I even bother with answering him_? I roll my eyes at him and frown; he smiles wearily and slides back to his place two boxes away from me, his eyes bright with curiosity. With how he dresses, he "didn't feel the inclination" to change for our trip to the convenience store. I picked up a heavier jacket abandoned on the wooden bench out in front of the store and zip it up all the way, as if to avoid everything going on around me. Dr. Jekyll, a mysterious murderer (or so I'm assuming, if he even justifies 'serious _creep'_ as '_serial killer'_), caresses the many boxes of cereal, oatmeal, and pre-packaged coffee bags, keenly eyeing the ingredients of each.

That's to my right. To my left is some asshole kid – blonde, tall, the arrogant face smudgly fixed on glaring at us like a real four-eyed creep – and some gay-looking black-haired guy with freckles. He's less intimidating by a landslide, and he's got some sort of weird anxiety bubbling over; I can practically feel my skin crawling with their questions. I think they were looking for the sugary-toaster crap, but they've been following us around now and I can't help but glare back every now and then.

When we hit the groceries isle, a brown-haired kid my age jumps and drops everything as Berserker throws the concept of "personal space" into the last decade: He leans over this poor, four-eyed chump, Berserker bending over him, the boy bending backwards. The poor guy's freaking the hell out.

… then again, I _probably_ would too if a foreigner was on top of me.

But it wasn't the guy Berserker was interested in. His hand holds his chin as his eyes drop to the ground. "And what do you call that, that atrocity you just dropped?"

The guy's sweating through his orange sweatshirt. "Uhhhhhh, sorry?!"

"That." Dr. Jekyll's eyes drop to the roots the boy left rolling on the ground.

The kid realizes his mistake, drops to the ground, and scuttles back a few paces before I arrive on the scene. "I-i-i-i-i-i-it…. it's a…. Taro root. They're good for fiber and Vitamin B-6."

"What a fascinating thing!" Berserker's voice rises a decibel with each syllable. "And what on heaven or on Earth is B-6?"  
"Its better known as pyridoxine." The guy gets his grove going and expands on his crap knowledge of plants. "Its also full of magnesium, copper, iron, and potassi-"  
"Glorious. I will purchase twelve." Berserker spins around and snaps to me, pointing at the Taro roots (Its not like I don't already have some _Veetios_, cough drops, sleepy-time tea, and chicken from the butcher stand, but whatever). I hastily bag up 12, apologize to the crap-tastic plant nerd, and hurry after the slowly departing Berserker.

If shopping were fun, I'd be in to it. I figured getting to waltz around with a bunch of hot dudes with be a great ego boost, but this?

Berserker tosses another thing to me… _wait, is this flea medicine for cats_?

This is too much.

"I do say, this generation has the world in the palm of its under-worked hand!" he clasps his hands together in glee as he spins around the dairy products. "_O diem praeclarum_!"

"Stop flaunting," a reassuring growl demands from behind me. It's Arche- _oh, hot damn._

He's ditched the red silks for a slightly tighter-than-it-probably-should-be black dress shirt and matching slacks. He avoids my gaze as he marches next to Berserker, head and shoulders above him.

_Sweet_.

I can roll with this.

"I thought you were waiting outside with Lancer?" Berserker sounds slightly irritated.  
"I was, you were taking too long." Archer's eyes flicker back to me, face barely visible behind the small mound of crap. "We should act quickly here to avoid involving outsiders."

Fair enough. Berserker shrugs and wanders off down another isle way as Archer waits for me to catch up to him.

Uncharacteristically, he takes some of my burden into his own arms. He seems to know what each thing is too, unlike Berserker – he places each item carefully in his arms, lining up boxes and bags with the tops, well, topside.

"Uh, thanks."

"You looked like a fool carrying all of this crap."

"_Thanks_." He turns to the isle way that Berserker disappeared down as my ears burn in rage. "Is he almost done?"

"I think so. We've hit almost everything on his list."

On the walk down the hillside, Berserker wrote down every freaking component under the sun that would be 'of unmistakable essence' to the spell. His list took up an entire page in Takao's journal, and its safe to assume he's had to make some variations based on the store's limited options; yes, I say limited, because how many people can find some raw magnesium iron in a place like this? Not many.

Yet he makes do and we're almost out of here.

Not close enough, however: a kid with absurdly white hair stops in Archer's path, mesmerized by the man towering over him. I can see Archer look down at the kid, sidestep, and continue forward, clearly irritate that the child was in his holy presence.

Behind the boy jogs up another – he's almost sporting a bowl-cut, an atrocity on its own – and he's flagged down by some guy sporting a black ponytail.

"Arslan, you know its rude t-"

"He had white hair like me." The child muses, cutting off the man with wonder in his little voice. He turns, youthful face full of awe. "That's… really neat. Do you think he's my daddy?"

The man takes a moment before he responds, head whipping back and forth to make sure the boy wasn't heard. "Yeah, but-"

My heart leaps up my throat.

I have to mumble excuse me as I rush past, ears burning. Why the hell am I so damn upset about them talking about Archer? The kid was genuine enough… Did Archer hear them?

There's no way they're actually related. That kid was nothing short of… a turnblossom. An insolent fool. An accident waiting to happen.

_Unless he was an accident in the area a few years ago._

I nearly drop everything as Berserker suddenly tops off my arms with an apple. He must have been on a rampage again - he stops with his mouth partly open. But his eyes catch mine and his brow furrows slightly. Not in a pissed-off way like Archer's eyebrows are glued together, but more like a… I don't know, I guess a brotherly way?

"Miss… Hashimoto? Are you well? You're pale as Hamlet's ghost." I don't respond, so he inches his face closer to mine. "Miss?"

"Wh-? Yeah no, yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Wait, sorry." I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment to regain composer. "Sorry, did you ask me something?" Berserker turns slowly around to watch the man and children; his deliberate movements catching every infinite detail with his sharp, beastly eyes. "No." He turns back to me, suddenly realizing the burden he's leveled me down with. Impishly, he staggers so he's just below my level and tries to force everything out of my hands.

"Jeezus Christ Berse- I mean, Dr., give a girl a warning!" I pull back before everything falls on his unexpected face.

Seriously. _Berserker_? _This_ white cracker? _This_ little shit?

He steps back and scratches the back of his head, blushing slightly as he reclines. "I apologize, it is wrong of me to burden you as such."

"Dude, _this_ isn't a burden." I focus on the apple, as it rocks too and fro on the peak of my little mountain. "Don't worry about it. Are we done here?"

"We better be. This is taking too long." Archer appears, extending an arm to take the apple from me. He frowns as he inspects the red fruit. "What's this for? It has no properties for any sort of spell."

"Nay, it's not for the incantation. It's for me. I'm hungry."

"Jeezus Doc, you could'ov said something." I look at Archer as he throws the apple at a surprised Berserker. "Are you hungry too?"

"I'm fine."

"You say that, but-"

"_I'm_ _fine_." He turns around and starts walking to the checkout. "Besides, we only have a day left." Berserker follows, unaccustomed to the shopping process unlike Archer, and yet unphased by the horrific and suddenly-dropped truth.

_Oh yeah._

My face drops down, messy hair blocking my view.

They only have a day left to live.

"Excuse me? Miss?" A man with poorly-dyed blonde hair peeks over at me from the counter. "Are you with these men?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry to keep you waiting." I can see Archer over the checkout stand and various, flavorless gum, the corners of his face falling to extreme measures as I test his patients. The man keeps eyeing us awkwardly as we stand in silence, him sliding various things across the scanner. He smells like smoke. He sounds tired. There are lines under his eyes. He was probably a highschool drop-out, back in his day. I subconsciously rub my check and feel around my eyes, praying the same dead-beaten look hasn't corrupted my face like this day has damaged my personality. I find that I can't look at Archer, not after what that kid said.

I can't believe I'm rattled by something like this.

It was just some kid.

But _still_.

" 'This everything?"

"Yes." Archer pulls out a red leather wallet (of course, what other color would it be?) and unveils a gold credit card. In his black-trim slacks and dress shirt and hair slicked back, he looks like an actor buying a girl in the red-light district; then again, with cheeky little Dr. Jekyll at his side, maybe he's more of a desperate millionaire uncle trying to please his nephew. _A bestranged nephew to say the very least, but shit_... I can feel my cheeks roasting under sudden heat. _No wonder everyone's watching us. We look like a freakband or something._

Wait, where the hell did he get a wallet? How long has he had that?  
Don't tell me he _stole_ that from someone, that shit.

Berserker greedily hoists several bags to his side, nearly dropping two in the process. Archer storms out without a second look once he's done paying for Berserker's crap, and the weak monster obediently chases after his master – leaving me to take the last three plastic bags.

The cashier leans on his elbows as he watches me struggle.

"Want the receipt?"  
"I guess not."

"Need a hand?"

"No, no thanks."  
"Hey, kid-" I look at him, his deadbeat face, his lifeless eyes.

Or, at least I thought they were lifeless a minute ago. A spark of worry lights up his eyes in a form of… angry concern. As if he's my dad or something. We stare at each other in silence, neither yielding to the other's exhausted expressions.

"How long have you known those guys?"  
I didn't realize I was holding my breath.

"Uh, what time is it?" He arches a brow and looks down at his watch as I take my leave. "Uhhhh, quarter 'til eleven…?"

I pause at the door. "About five hours, then."

* * *

As the three of us start walking back up the mountainside to our base of operations, Lancer lands silently beside me, instantly reaching down to take my bags.

I catch myself blushing for the millionth time today as our hands touch. His face lingers near mine as he reaches down, and he smiles.

"Of all the Servants, you are trapped with three men, to which but one is a gentleman. You truly are an unlucky young woman tonight, aren't you?"

I smile as Berserker stumbles over his emotional reaction, jaw dropped and finger raised to teach us all a lesson. I cross my arms over my chest in the bitter cold. "I will have you know, kind knight, thy am but one of history's greatest gentlemen!"  
"Please, a member of the Berserker class, a gentleman?" Diarmuid Ua Dibhne rises to full height as he taunts Dr. Jekyll more. "I doubt you even know the definition of chivalry… but I trust your endeavors have paid off?"

Berserker lingers over the idea of continuing to banter, but his eyes fall on me as I trudge up the hill quietly. "Well, yes… but of course." Several moments pass in silence before he fishes around in his grocery bags, revealing an apple with a single bite in it. Dr. Jekyll bounds over to me, gentle smile on his gentle face. "Miss, I believe tho needs this more than thy." I don't look at him; I keep my eyes on the path in front of me. "No, you're hungry. You take it."

"If you do not eat, you will be extremely depleted of energy. We cannot allow that if the incantation is to work." I finally look at him hesitantly, Archer continuing to trample up the hill, Lancer waiting beside me.

I watch his back melt from black to red. His clothes evaporates, leaving in place his warrior's silks.

"No thanks. I'm good."

Lancer and Berserker walk behind me as we continue in silence.

"See? Indeed thy knows chivalry!"

"Hush."

"Berserker." I try tentatively. Archer stops walking as the two behind me catch up. As the lights from the city fade away, the only illumination comes from the vibrance in each man's eyes.

"Yes?"

"How ready are we to try the spell?"

"We could do it any time now." His voice is soft, humor gone. All three face me as I switch between looking at each. "Then let's do this. The sooner, the better."

Berserker smiles as he takes a bite of his apple. He offers it to me as he speaks. "Then, we shall make haste to march forward."

.

.

.

* * *

**This was originally fluff to pass the time at the airport, but I found a way to factor in a few elements I've left unspoken. Pretty happy about how this turned out.**

**Anyone recognize the cameos? XD**


	20. False Liberosis

The last thing we needed was a few blood sacrifices: mine, of course, was included in the recipe, but Archer had to take down some creatures flying by. Two bids, an owl and a seagull, and a bat. And we were ready.

Berserker had some sort of awkward resolve built up after our shopping experience, and he constantly nagged me about being ready and willing to do this.

I pat him and smile, wedging my eyes shut so I don't have to look at him through my lies.

"I'm fine. I'm perfectly safe with you guys, what could go wrong?"

Any number of things, really. I could almost die like that first go-round with what the boys have deemed is Assassin. I could end up a piece of wall-art. I could be one of those kids that's never remembered and quickly forgotten, one of those kids who walk out at night and never come home.

Lancer sees through my charade but doesn't interrupt me. He watches me intently with those dazzling eyes, but he too keeps closer than usual; an arm's length away nonetheless, but he lingers and stands idly longer than he usually does just out of sight.

Archer, on the other hand, is absolutely unchanged. I'm starting to think he _wants_ me dead.

And before I know it, the doodle is out on the ground and the book is in my hand. Berserker stands beside me, tracing my palm in an intricate manner. "_Mea anima est cum te. Nostra animae sunt cum vobis."_ He smiles, eyes closed behind his glasses. "We will succeed this evening - retain your faith, and all will be well."

I nod as I swallow the lump in my throat. I step closer to the ring, the delicate tracing of blood, and suddenly feel too small for this world.

I could walk away still. I could go home, I doubt these guys would stop me.

I stand at the brim, and I feel like I'm looking over the edge of the world.

You know thought, at this point… I really can't.

I hold Takao's journal in my left hand, gripping it fierce enough to tear the binding off. I stick out my right arm, stretching my fingers into the darkness before me.

_May Fusicoccin and the bark of the oak be the binding_

_May the water and the scavenger work the root_

_May green be the flash of Death_

_May fall the wall against the rising winds_

_May the wings of the holy cardinals bid welcome through the pearly gates_

_Let the three-pronged fate from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate. _

_The eyes of the silence may return to sleep_

_And my flesh the entrance of your re-arrival,_

_Bid me the handle, Holy Grail, and grace me thy extended powers._

_I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven;_

_I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell._

_Holy Grail Servant, heed my call!_

* * *

He appears in a flourish, a magnificent storm of blinding light and glistening potential.

Within the instant I cast the spell, Archer threw himself in front of me. I raise an arm to block the radiance and squint at the dust kicked up by the swirling wind. A heat wave ushers upon our mortal skin – if a blind man just walked into this situation, I'd say he'd be overwhelmed by the sudden desert-like heat wave. You can almost see a chamomile flower bloom as thickets of dust fall in every direction; at the center of the flower, a man of gold.

As like the other three guys, a ravishing smile blossoms from his face.

"Well, commoners, who dared beckon me forth, the son of Ra?"

I'm on all fours on the ground, and simply in awe. Careful eyes from a life long ago peel open, maskera-esk wings dancing from the corners. From behind Archer, I can see he isn't dressed in any practical war armor (its not like I'm one to know battle clothes, but still, hear me out): wispy shawls of flax linen? Really. To every girl's delight he has no shirt, but rather solid bars of gold reaching around from his powerful spine and almost touching at his abs (but, oh, not quite!). A single white shawl drapes his shoulders and into a cape. Once I crawl into sitting position using Archer's leg to pull myself up, I can see a black top that protects his arms and neck. Archer growls something, and Lancer stands at the ready for a quick and sure fight. From his elbow to his fingers glisten solid gold, radiating directly from the sun itself.

Black linen twines loosely from his waist to his feet, kept in place, again, by solid plates of gold. Gemstones make his sandals, and an oversized necklace lands on his shoulders carelessly, topped off with a cross with a loop.

I'm astounded. For the first time in my life, I've conducted an actual spell – and not just any spell, but a summoning!?

_ANNND, of all things, I summon a __**god**__?!_

Gold eyes take in the darkening surrounding and us idiots around him. I'm absolutely useless like this, but I'm mesmerized: he's beautiful… how could a man like this be a _warrior_?

He whips a staff around, beckoning us back and on our knees like dogs. His olive skin glistens in perfection, his hair just a few shades darker.

He's perfect.

The staff beats the ground aggressively, his shimmering eyes sharpening fiercely.

"Heed me, commoner, your tone is unwarranted." _Oh, I totally missed what Archer said. _

"Ramses..." I whip my head to Dr. Jekyll, who's on the ground beside me. "Ramses the Second… oh yes, I should have known."

I'm amazed Berserker's the first to respond to this man. He folds up his glasses and sets them in his breast pocket as he stands up. He fixes his cuffs as we all wait – Archer and… _our guest_ in rage, Lancer as stoic as ever, and me… well, I'm kinda freaked out. What kind of a position are we in, if _Berserker's_ the first to speak?  
And while we're at it, how does he know this guy? Dr. Jekyll's from the United Kingdom, and heaven knows where _he's_ from.

Archer remains stiff-backed, like a cat with his hackles up. If anything else, I'd have thought Archer knew him – they're both dark-skinned and worn by the dry wind of time – and yet he stands here, ready to slaughter this man at the slightest of movement.

Ramses… I've heard of that one. Dr. Jekyll smiles and extends a hand to the newcomer.

"We have yet to meet, but we will be rivals one day soon in the Grail War to come." The desert king arches a bow, unconvinced. "And how is it you know my name, common street dog, while I do not yours?"  
"An element of mine is the uncanny knowledge of space-time. It may be above you, but I wander the barricades of time itself when in the absence of space."

The gorgeous man frowns, brashly kicking up his chin to physically look down on the man. "You insist you contain a mind superior to my own? How dare you, you commoner!"  
He _tisks_ away from Berserker and gravitates towards me, spitting in my direction (heavens to god, thank Satan that loogy didn't land on Archer. He would have lost his shit in a second.) I hook my fingers into the laces of Archer's leggings, the straps where I imagine knives usually flank his body. He spreads his legs slightly, an act of reassurance to shield me from his eyes. But Rider kickers his chin up again and lowers his eyes to me.

"Speak girl, you are in the reason I am here. Who do you think you are, to summon the Son of Ra? How did you summon me? I know this Grail War and want nothing of it, so tell me how you pulled me here!"  
"You were summoned to the physical world but days ago," Lancer's honey-combed voiced speaks up coolly, his body still coiled like a snake ready to strike. "Where have you been up to now?"  
"I went home to my kingdom," Rider announces as if any other action is preposterous. "Egypt has fallen without me. I was just reawakening a dear pet when I was forcefully dragged here. So, speak girl! What did you drag me to this wretched land? Speak!"

Okay, deep breathes. If I don't assert myself here and now, he'll never respect me, nor will the guys.

I use Archer to pull myself up, stepping slightly away from him as I look stupidly at the Egyptian king.

"You… you've been dead for… hundreds of years. You're a heroic spirit according to the… the Grail. A-a-as a king, your duty is to protect your people. yyyyouuu-"

"My duty?" the man laughs, a sparkling roar. "Ignorant commoner, you clearly do not recognize the situation you are in. You stand before Ramses the Second, Son of Ra, the greatest king to ever have lived! You summoned me indeed, but you know not the glory before you." He turns away from me and inspects his fingernails. His gold bangles glisten violently. "Perhaps you should educate yourself of your class and place in this world. I am doing a great dishonor to my father by but speaking to you, you lowly commoner, let alone, a woman! No, you are not even that!"  
"Enough," hisses Lancer. "You may not dishonor this young maiden in my presence. _Begon_ with you, presumed decently. Fair Hashimoto, heed him no mind." He must have seen how visible shaken I was; my fists, clenched, my jaw tight, my face beat red.

Its… its just like Dad. How I'm not going to go anywhere. How I'm going to become the real runt of the family. To this guy, I'm nothing more than a roach waiting to be squished underfoot, and apparently, that's all I'll ever be good for. I mean, even _Hiro_ graduated from high school. Maybe these guys are all right. They're dicks, but they're right.

People… people like me never amount to anything.

But he's not done.

"Oh, poor slave-skinned girl! Did I strike a nerve? Well, address me if you dare claim the courage. You shall reference me as Ozymandias, King of Kings. Or shall you not? Bear mind girl, you stand far short from reguardable. You-"

"**Enough**!"

Lancer's brow rises. Berserker recoils at the intensity. And for once, Rider's arrogance is silenced.

I look left, just as surprised as everyone else.

"You are no higher than her, so stop pretending to be. You're a reanimated spirit anchored to this world just like the rest of us. Spitting some illusions from a life you lived thousands of years ago will gain nothing. So, shut up you fool, and listen."  
A wave of relief flushes over me. Archer may not be noble, but he's reliable.

I swallow the lump in my throat in the short silence that followed and try again.

"I… I'm willing to respect you. Really, I am. But this situation calls for a lot more than a gang of historic storybook characters. Ozy-mandias, right?" He watches me intently, curiously, angrily. ""I'm asking you to help us. The Holy Grail has chained you to the real world, in a day and age where you're not much more than a name kids are forced to learn in school. Your family and dynasty is long gone. Please, someone's corrupting the Grail, and from what we can tell, you're up for potentially being manipulated by whoever's pulling the strings here."  
"You jest, insisting I would be swayed by some… common mongrel?"  
"No! No… i… i… I just-" I look at my crowd. Berserker's very intimidated by the situation. Lancer's gorgeous face is tight with rage. Archer is unchanged, waiting patiently for my call to action.

I take a deep breath and clasp my hands tightly together.

"We… we're trying to stop this madman before more people die. My brother died trying to stop him. Some seventy-something innocent people have been killed. And these are people you don't know or care about, but the Grail has rooted you here as a Heroic Spirit. You have the opportunity to be just that again." He opens his mouth – I'm assuming he has an insult waiting in ready for me, but I push on. "I don't expect you to genuinely care, nor do I expect you to get your hands dirty with _commoner_ stuff like this, but you have the opportunity to remind the world of what a leader you were." I heave a heavy breath and keep going. "If you don't want to help us, I wont stand in your way. However, if you oppose us?" I wave a hand over my gaggle of misfits. "I can't say they'll easily forgive you."

His sharp eyes silently pull me apart. He could step forward and kill me without hesitation, if he really wanted to, despite my bodyguards.

I'm sure the thought crosses his mind, but as I stare boldly back at him, he tilts his head slightly and smiles.

"Commoner girl, I am pleased to have been summoned by the likes of you above the rest of this world's present population. Although you lack in all forms of beauty and grace-" my ears burn in embarrassment, "-you are in no means shy of my beloved's wry heart. I am glad to see _some_ still retain proper beauty of character."  
He peeks at each of the men gathered in the darkness. "However, I have no intention of soiling my hands with this nonsense. If your emerald dog will bid me access, I will take my leave without chase – a peaceful manner fit for only a _loving_ king."

Lancer's orange eyes flicker over with anticipation, but I hold out a tentative hand to Ireland's knight. "Lancer, please. We have no grudge with him."

"He might go to the enemy," the man reasons, black hair caught reflecting the golden king's violent light. "And even if he does not, anyone opposed to joining our unified force is by definition _against_ us." Archer shakes his head in disagreement as Berserker walks over to stand beside me. "He wont, _will_ you?" I reaffirm, glancing at the son of Ra. He says nothing but continues to watch me intently. They're cat eyes, that's it. Or the monster in the alleyway that we all fear in the dead of night. Either way, his eyes pierce my mortal body – not aggressively, but… fondly. Then, he reassesses the situation with a quick 360* spin on his hell, smiles fully, and bids us farewell.

"I have no plan to partake in your holy war, but I sincerely wish the Gods smile down upon you in your course of action." His ravishing, cocky smile once more absorbs the light around him. "Farewell, commoners. I pray to my father that you look back on this event as one of the greatest of your measly lives." He nods to me, making me flinch and instinctively grab Archer, and he twirls the cane-staff in his right hand.

From above explodes a radiance only comparable to his own; I'd say it's a UFO, but Rider looks up, leaps, and seats himself out of my line of vision.

In an instant he is gone.

We're all stunned by the traumatic ten minutes. Berserker coughs and peels off his glasses in the uncomfortable silence.

"Well, that could have been worse."

I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding in and stagger backwards a step. The men watch me as I collect myself, hand clenching my shirt for self-reassurance. My eyes are locked on the ground as I swell with emotions.

_I… I can't believe that just happened_. I can feel my pulse bleeding into my line of vision; the fading light swirls around me. With each heartbeat the colors pound into my line of vision. I'm forced to take in sharp breathes through my mouth… my lungs just aren't big enough right now to contain the air in me.

"Miss Hashimoto?"

"That… _was really cool_." I fall forwards and catch myself on my words, tripping on the sounds as a delusional state settles over me.  
Someone grabs me by both arms and falls beside me as I come to my knees. The hands are small and so, so soft… it must be Berserker. "Her adrenaline from the situation must be wearing off - this is the side-effects of the incantation. Breathe my dear, just breathe through it. We have opened several circuits in your body simultaneously; you will feel overwhelmed f'r a short time longer. Just breath my dear, just breathe."

"What circuits did the incantation open?" It's the commanding voice of Archer, somewhere… somewhere behind me.

"I'd assume all of them, if not most of them. That is how it should properly impact a mage. Pardon, but I thought she was a mage?!"  
"Hardly." A firm hand caresses my back, and I jump at the touch. I'm yakking something, something that isn't in my lungs. My eyes are still pounding furiously against my skull, blood roaring in my ears.

_This… is an odd sensation… perhaps I'm…. dying._

"She's going into cardiac arrest."

"Well, do something!"

"What do you think I'm trying to do?"

If I'm lucky… maybe my head will explode. _That… that would feel… pretty nice right about now. _If not my head, maybe my heart will burst from my ribs.

"Hold on, got it."

Sheer-cold, icey-hot knives burn into my body, tracing my veins from my heart to my brain. I can feel it seeping into my blood as a cooling reagent as my spine snaps straight against my will.

"Jj-j-j-jeezus!" I cough, yakking out of control, body heaving in the effort. God, my eyes sting! I rub my eyes furiously until someone forcefully pulls my hands away by the wrists. "Stop that, your eyes are fine. Look at me."

God, they _burn_!

I open gingerly, oxygen flooding them like a broken dam. Lo and behold, the first thing I see drives me mad with emotions; like a newborn fawn, my eyes are locked with my protector's.

He's smiling a wry, fox-like smile.

His eyes are really, really something else up close, too.

"Its safe to assume the spell worked." He steps back so Lancer can lean into me, his handsome face squinting slightly. In an instant his face drops as he heaves a sigh, hair falling in exaggeration. "You have me worried, Miss Hashimoto." He pushes himself up and sits upright on his heels, lance slung over his back as if he was playing off not being as worried as he was. _Nah, you can't fool me… I could see it in your face. _

I smile, suddenly aware of the sweat dripping down my face. I reach to rub my cheek and recognize the pain throbbing away in my cranium. "Hey, that was cool. It worked, though, right?"

"Defiantly. You should see your eyes."

Berserker reacts by wrapping around and leaning in too close to my face, his nose almost touching mine. His glasses are on too, adding to the ridiculousness of his soft face. The doctor nods in assertion. "Yes, we have achieved our goal."

"Wait, what wrong with my eyes?" I turn to look at Archer, simultaneously pushing Berserker away.

"They're different. More indigo now."  
"Indigo?!"  
"From your circuits. It must be your color."

Berserker sits back on his bum, the look of a startled puppy draped over his long, intrigued face. Lancer smiles down at the smaller man, shoulders slouching in relief.

I fall backwards, suddenly free enough to smile. Suddenly free enough to giggle, suddenly free enough to laugh.

I curl up on the ground, laughing like an idiot. It was a brief break in time and I'm sure the world would overlook it, but it felt so… blissful.

I stood up for myself… against a goddamned god. WHO DOES THAT?

_Who gets into situations like this? Who gets tangled up with such… with such idiots? With such gentlemen? With such hotties? _

I sit up, propped up by my hands against the cold ground behind me. Now _everyone_ looks confused.

"Its like you said, it could'ov been worse!"

"You almost _died_!" Does it matter who that exclamation came from?  
"Totally! I've never felt so alive!" I jump to my feet before teetering back over. Archer loyally catches me by the shoulders and eyeballs me like I'm a fool. "You're drained, and it's late. There's nothing more we can do, we should rest before the opportunity escapes us." I nod and look everyone over - they would probably deny it, but they all look exhausted. "Fair enough," I yawn, my brain finally catching up to my body. "But we need to plan for tomorrow."  
"Sleep first, plan later."

"Agreed," Lancer rubs his brow. "We will cross that bridge when we get there."

I turn to Berserker. "Dr.? Thoughts?"

He blushes slightly and raises his hands in defense. "Ai, I am honored thy would consider my opinion here, but... I lack one." He beams childishly and scratches his head. "IF I may request, may I look at your brother's journal once more? I will ponder our options for tomorrow until... eh, until rest falls upon me as well."  
"I don't care. Its all yours." I bend over to pick it up from its place on the ground beside me, realizing luminescent indigo lightening bolts tracing my veins in the hand I used to cast the spell. I smile again as I walk the moleskin over to him.

"Thank you, Dr. Jekyll. We couldn't have done this without you."  
"_We would not ha_-"  
"Shut up, Archer." I hiss, cutting him off. Berserker smiles again as he takes the book from me, refusing to look me in the eye. "Nay, thank you. Now we are one step closer to ending this nightmare. I may yet win the Holy Grail another day."

I don't know how to respond, so I plant my hands on my hips and look up at the bleak sky. For the first time, I feel... hope for tomorrow. I cant say how long its been since I've felt like this.  
It feels... great.

.

.

.

* * *

**The Rider class is my favorite. Prolly 'cause I'm an equestrian, but you can't deny the dynamic array of legends that take up the Rider mantle during the Holy Grail Wars.**

**This is Ramses II. A little Gilgamesh-y, huh? A bit of a prick, but he has a right to be – he was the king of a leading force during his time. Too bad he's still got his head wrapped around the past.**

**I hope he realizes he's a few hundred years out of place.**


	21. Under the Stars

I settle down in the biggest nook I can find in the tall grass, but the cold seeps into my clothes within moments. I curl tighter and toss too and fro, trying to get comfortable enough to actually sleep. God, if only I could just override how I feel externally – my eyes are about to fall out for Pete's sake!

Archer glances at me from the stone he's perched up on. I can hear him sigh, but have to twist around a bit to send him my most wrathful glare. He smiles as we make eye contact, and I shuffle back, face away in rage.

"Not used to sleeping under the stars, I see."

"Sorry, you forget you're in company with normal people. Well, a normal person." I crane my neck around to see Lancer sound asleep in a tree and Berserker on another stone, paging diligently through my brother's journal. _We make quite the motley crew, don't we, Takao? _I face my hand once again, curling my fingers as I trace the blood vessels that glow indigo. I can't get over how absolutely insane this is.

He actually chuckles, and I sit up. "I didn't realize you have an actual heart, you monster." I find myself watching him in admiration as he smiles up at the cloudy sky. "Evenso, I'm no fool. I know the value of rest in this weary world. It might be difficult, but _do_ try to sleep, you little idiot."

I huff. "Its too cold," I accuse, curling up tighter to press my legs into my chest.

I see him glance sideways as if thinking something over. Finally, he sighs and gets up.

Archer walks over to me as I lay in confusion. I'm a little nervous as to what he'll do next (what, did I _actually insult him_?) and he grudgingly sits down beside me.

"If being cold is your problem, put these on." He unlatches his sleeves – because how many of us obviously wear sleeves separately from our shirts – and hands them to me without looking. Again, his chin is pointed to the heavens, and I take them wearily. It's a little awkward, but I mumble my thanks and clumsily stuff my arms into the silk.

They are already warm, his magnificent body heat sugar-coating mine in relief. I sit with my back to him, arms across my chest and head down as I nod off ever so slightly. He twists a bit, rustling the grasses beneath us. I don't look at him, but I am curious about something.

"What's with the soft side all of a sudden? Heaven knows you aren't a particularly considerate person."

"You're no use to me dead of frostbite." He responds honestly. "Don't overthink the situation – you're nothing but a fool who got tangled up in something bigger than yourself."

I sneer, a little insulted, but glad he's unchanged. "Wow, thanks for that confidence boost."

"Don't treat honesty as if it's a sin: it's not. Take this too." The red silk of his drapes falls on to my shoulder, the product of his stifling around just now. I take it with less hesitation than before and a louder "thanks", but I can't let it go. "You're just cold-hearted and you know it."

I like this. It's almost like just… talking with Hiro. Its almost like the world isn't falling apart.

"You think I should trust them more," Archer suddenly insists, reading through my intentions.

"Well..." I meant that subconsciously, didn't I? I lean against him, his glorious muscles cushioning me as I fall asleep. "There's no harm in trusting people every now and then. Besides, they're true to their words – I know it's corny, but I see it in their hearts." Archer huffs, a sarcastic laugh to match his dry whit. "You wouldn't trust them either if you truly understood who they are. Heroic Spirits aren't actually heroic by nature, it's just a title. You'd be weary too if you understood the danger you're in, being around them."

I nestle into him, his drapes wrapped snugly around me. He has a point, but… is it my place to ask him? "And what makes you think that I should trust you over them?"  
"I never suggested that. I don't care if you trust me or not, I am here to protect you, and that is that."

I could outright accuse him of being one of those 'lesser-heroics' like he just noted, but I'm pretty positive he'd take back his red uniform; but I can't let the subject slide by, my curiosity's got the best of me.

"You're a heroic spirit too," I say softly, almost unable to face the undeniable truth. "That means… you're dead. You died on a battlefield somewhere."

He thinks it over. "That's one way to look at it."

"Were…. were you alone?" His back stiffens before the muscles retract again, his chin dropping to his chest. From my position on the ground, I can see him flexing his fists; never before have I really recognized the massive beauty of his arms – his left arm blocks most of my view. If I try hard enough, I bet I could see some scars.

That feels like I'd be getting to personal with him; scars tell stories, and he's not much of a storyteller. He's supposed to be my anonymous guardian, but there's so much to be said here. _I only wish he'd actually talk with me. _

Maybe it's my fault; maybe I bring out the worst in him.

"Yes."

It is a simple answer, representing a simple truth.

"How'd you die?" I ask, stifling a yawn. He hesitates again, but replies with the same bitter veracity as always.

"The same way I lived. With no regret."

We might have talked more, but I fell asleep then and there.

.

.

.

* * *

**That's a bold stance on my part, isn't it? This Archer is after the events of **_**Fate Stay Night Unlimited Blade Works**_**, so I can imagine him reaching a new peace after his battle with his former self. **


	22. Dreamscape

I land on my feet, a gentle slam against the Earth. My eyes are open and unblinking, painfully aware of the infinite details around me and abyss that encases me.

_ Where_

It is dark, yet light bleeds from the clouds above. I see red and black, brown and grey, a violent indigo beyond the clouds. The clouds themselves curling in agony of the unnatural environment. I... I think I'm in a city, but it doesn't look... modernized. Wooden shacks, leeways and crooked, dot the horizon. Pillars prod the sky like children grasping for their mothers, or more appropriately, their Father. Our Father. Our divine savior.

I am flustered with emotions. Rage, regret, sincere agony only comparable to having my heart ripped out before me. My hands are tied, and a chain anchors my feet together, my reality to this marble.

_What_

_What is going on._

I can almost see a face in the clouds, a kind face, a gentle face, that cries for me. I do not recognize her, but my heart bleeds to hold her. She must be an angel, this woman I cannot touch. I reach out to her, a silent scream pleading to my Divine Father for retribution, a voice that is not mine. My hands lunge forward towards her face in the clouds, the thick rope cutting my wrists as gravity yanks me forward in its icy doom to the noose in front of me.

She is worth more than this world, that I know. But who _is _she?

_she... she is... She is a dream come true. She is a blessing to this accursed world, this violent land of chaos and disorder._

The noose is around my neck, yet still I reach.

_I live for her. I shall always, _**always **_live for her. _

Her face cries, the red from the clouds corrupting her dazzling, infinite beauty. She _is _the infinite around me, she is my everything.

But who _is _she?

As my feet fall beneath me and the noose takes its hold around my life, my hands stretch up higher and higher.

_I will die a martyr. I will be reborn... and I will reclaim my precious Je'anne._

* * *

Now I am crippled, my legs useless beneath me, my arms limp at my side. My hands, stained with blood possibly and undeniably both mine and not my own. My hands fall as my crippled body succumbs to the cold of a slow-crawling death. For some reason I feel the urgent need to get up and tend to someone precious to me, but I can't. I am surrounded by my comrades - they weep in desperation of my condition.

_What has happened to me. Why do I feel no pain, but know I am dying?_

A beautiful lady crouches beside me, her tears falling gently on my face. I can't stand to see _her _crying: not _her_, not her of all people. Her hair falls to her side, a loose braid, something her daughter did earlier that day. Against the green forestry surrounding me, her hair is a guiding light, an amber lantern guiding me home.

I am... waiting for someone. I am waiting for someone to come and aid me. Thats it, its someone I know, someone I trust.

But he does not come.

My feelings fall apart, my sensations fail me. I cannot move my eyes nor my lips - I cannot stop watching my Grainne cry. Please, please stop crying. Stop crying for me, my precious mayfly. Stop crying, be brave for our children. Be brave.

And she cannot, not as the forest thickens around her. It strangles her in my eyes just as it once did me.

_I die a discarded hero. I have shamed my precious family. I shall... I shall bring the honor to my family, to my people. _

* * *

My eyes open.

I can see my hands, clear of blood. But they curl, and lightning shoots through my veins.

_I... I will become what I never could._

_I will breathe enlightenment into the minds of man._

Jet-black hairs slowly peel from my skin, a heartbeat lasting a million lifetimes. I watch each hair as it rises, my blood boiling at the violent condition I have indebted myself with.

Then my skin explodes in the darkness. My epidermis flies in every direction as I fall to my knees. I cry. I scream. I plead for forgiveness.

But no one comes for me - nay, nothing shall _ever _come to aid me. I am alone in this darkened world, this world void of the grace of knowledge.

I shall bring forth this knowledge.

I sheer civilians like wood. I tear off limbs like pages of a book. I bay at the moon, an uncontrollable force rallying a beast from within me.

_Igne natura renovatur integra. Homo homini lupus, in rerum natura._

* * *

The infinite sea of darkness swells around me, rising like an unforgiving tide against everything I could have ever become.

_I could have been it all._

But the darkness is soothing; it is natural, it is calm. It breathes a sigh of relief as I sit in it, my mind reaching my own conclusions.

I function, I live, I breathe to kill. I take down the unknowing, day by day, falling forward, unable to define myself. And I do not do this for myself. Who do I do it all for? It is someone I have never touched, it is someone I may never see with my own two eyes. _Who is this almighty spirit? Who am __**I**__?_

I can see the eyes of those who cannot comprehend the hell they have just tangoed with. Women. Children. Men. Infants. Eyes begging for answers as I dig at their necks, their throats filling with their own blood, their death by their own silent screams.

Why am I not pleased with my progress? What in the Lord's name am I doing? How could I ever unsee this, this madness?

_Because I could have had it all_.

_I shall remain in this Earth's soil. I shall remain an echo of this time. I shall arise like the eroding crust, a death only parallel to the planet's own. I will kill again, and I will claim the title that is rightfully mine. _

* * *

I can't move. This isn't my own skin, this darkness is unfamiliar.

I don't want to be here. What the hell is going on?

The darkness falls away, drops of gold falling from the sky to plip-plop softly against the earth, the heavens, and everything in between. My line of vision falls from two-dimensions into three, then four. I can see into the infinite tide of what is and what is not.

I am standing in a desert of glass. Diamonds glisten violently, screaming with solar energy from my father above. I look down, my bare feet red, monsters clawing up at me through the other side of the glass. Tentacles, claws, fangs, beaks of malevolent intent. Black eyes, red eyes, unfilled eyes, unseeing eyes – they all stare deep into me, and I cannot bear to avert their despair.

It is a despair brought to them by my father, a pain, a desperation for war, brought upon them… for me. So I will stand above all other kinds before me and all those who dare stand after me.

This is all mine. This domain is my own. These beasts, these creatures condemned to misery, are my own to command. The greatest one sits fifty feet below me, wandering eyes, flicking tail. Through the many creatures of darkness I can see this giant cat, this giant man, this creature of Death.

And it sees me. Our eyes lock, and the glass beneath me evaporates.

I fall a million miles and land in my bed beneath the woman I love. Our sheets drape her bare back, her playful eyes forcing my heart to skip a beat. She leans down and smolders me, her love unparalleled, her beauty beyond words. I reach to make love to her, to encase her fair body in the glory of my own, but Ra bleeds above her.

But as she draws back for air, blood drips from her eyes. Ruby blood, from the poison in my own system.

_I shall avenge my empire._

* * *

And I'm blown back a trillion miles away to a time uncharted, thrust against my chest and spiraling up into the undomesticated sky. I could see my body, stand still in shock of my death, my fingers dragging in the wind as I am taken further and further away. Away, and rested on my knees on a battlefield, a garden of desperation.

For the first time, I can really hear the world around me. I can hear everything that ebbs from the Earth, and while thousands surround me, I am alone in the silence. The clouds give way to soft, gentle, fat droplets as the heavens shudder tear after tear.

Alone, but for one.

_It is... it is not a good day for rain. _

My own raindrops curl around my cheek. I can feel the sting of salt, the knife of utter desperation as my heart bleeds. My hands curl tighter around the hilt of my loyal sword. My foe's own raindrops glisten stronger than mine, but that is the only thing stronger in my foe.

_No. Today is not a good day for rain._

The thousands that lay at my feet, their hearts have all bled out. I fight. I conquer. I will avenge my fallen mother, I will take down this vile monstrosity. I will tear my… father? I will tear my father, limb from limb.

But I am already on my knees. The spear is already driven through my body.

I fall beside them, my fallen brothers in arms. Slowly, gently. My enemy averts my weakening gaze – this beast knows its sin. I reach out to the monster, my body trembling with every effort thrown forward, fingertips soaked in blood.

_I will be reborn. I will tear this monster apart. _

* * *

I blink, this dream nearly at its conclusion. I feel so far removed from home, so vandalized in my own skin, so ready to fall and die like each life I just walked through. Each hero fought valiantly for their own cause… just to die. They died, alone and forgotten by the breathing world.

The blackness fades away, and I'm at the base of a dimly lit parallel universe. I take a dreary step forward, my body weighed down by a burden known only as reality.

I'm crying, but I don't know why. The salt cradles my cheeks not because my body is numb with devastation, but with the strain of the world I will never understand.

There are things out there that children should never hear. There are things that children should never see.

At the top of a gently sloping hill stands a crimson warrior in black. He does not face me as I ascend to my fall.

_This. This is one of those things children should not see_.

My mind flashes to a fire years ago, one that devastated a nation yet went without justification. Who knows how many died that day? I thought no one walked away from that fire, yet here I am, plagued by a memory of a boy wandering the flames. I amble wordlessly as that boy once did, tears dropping, fat raindrops into a pool of realization. My body screams as the fire laps at my flesh, but my mind is numb from the over-existence of emotion, yet the void of thought.

_No one will rescue me. I am alone._

But the man that stands before me bears little resemblance to that child; his eyes are corrupt with desolation, his skin scared by the vastness of the maddening world. Scars brought down on him by his fellow man. Scars that, as this man falls to his knees, tears his heart to gently-falling shreds. The burn of fire gives way to a forgery of swords that dig into his back. The devastation he walked away from has shaped anew. Steel binds to his spine.

He has stood for oh so long – oh, so much longer than any mortal man should ever have to stand. This is the greatest crime, seeing this man forced to walk forward. This strained land, his home, will be his undug grave as he falls to his knees.

_There is no hope for humanity. There never has been, there never will be. _

_I will turn back time._

The man ascends only to fall farther than any creature before him. No god nor divine savior will catch him as he rises into his place in the heavens: only his own hands can bear him. I lunge for the de-winged angel as he falls, but tumble headfirst into my own misery as I try to understand.

No, but there is something he has to hold on to. A promise from an un-aging girl, a girl so delicate time itself can hardly wait to see her grow up.

But until the day comes when the world no longer turns, that promise is but the only thing he has to hold on to.

.

* * *

.

All light fades, and I see nothing but a black-rimmed sun.

There are things we cannot unsee.

There are things we cannot undo.

I wake up, confusing morningdew with teardrops.


	23. Adaptability

I awoke at an unnamed hour to find myself alone in the forest of dreams. As I stretch a little in my nest of overgrown grass, I can feel the heat still rising where Archer spent the night beside me. He must have just gotten up.

My eyes grudgingly open to a bleak darkness as if I was only asleep for twenty minutes. The red drapes still blanket me, and I never would have thought I could ever again find comfort in that color. His sleeves were comfortably too big, and even now they keep the heat in. I pull them off, smooth them straight, and lay them on his folded silks.

No one's in our little clearing. It's a safe bet that they just let me sleep longer, but it's a little creepy being somewhere I don't know and absolutely alone… well, its creepy being somewhere I don't know with people I _do_ know _but_ are super-soldiers from the past, but this feels a little worse all of a sudden. I stand at full height and stretch before honing my ears.

_ Harder…harder…_

"No no no, that will not do! If they truly are combatant warriors, a frontal assault will not prevail!"

"You are not listening to me," the lifeless moan of Archer's voice tickles my ears in reassurance. "I'm not saying a frontal assault – I was suggesting a slight of hand."

"Ah, a tip of the hat, so to speak?"

I fade back away from them (it's a boring conversation anyway) and try to find our emerald knight.

He was fishing.

Of all the things.

He doesn't need to turn to know I'm there – he could hear me rustling from my little nest in the grass. He smiles sideways, brilliantly, waiting for me to come by his side.

I would have thought that the easiest way to fish with skills like his would be to simply spear the fish in the river, but here he sits idly, one leg kicked out, one bent under him, as if he's soaking in the sunshine. Like it's the last day on Earth, and he's simply enjoying what he can of life's smallest pleasures. Tied to the end of his crimson spear is a string, fastened tightly to the tip, with the opposite end bobbing dreamily away in the gentle current. A small pile accumulates beside him of minnows and salmon, the most recent one set aside with a bit in it.

"I never pegged you for a sushi kind-of-guy." I sit beside him on a flat stone. Lancer leans back on his left arm, a kind gleam glistening in his eyes as he muses over days long gone.

"I myself do not peg an Irishman as a raw-fish consumer. However," He flips his stray strand away and faces me, orange eyes bright. "The world will always turn away from where it was last. There is no harm in trying something I have yet to test."

I wrap my arms around my legs and look up at the dreary sky again. "I feel like it should be about dawn-ish, but its dark as hell right now. Am I off, or did the sun die?" Lancer looks forward across the river and into the bleak forest. "I can neither confirm nor deny your assessments, but my internal clock seems to be out of array as well. It is hard to judge the world around you, when you yourself do not know what you are judging."

"Were you always so… wise? And wordy?" I ask. He smiles fondly, and I blush. I look away to hide my cheeks, and he keeps his eyes forward. "I have never before been called a wise man, nor a… wordy one." I glance quickly back at him to see his soft face patiently waiting for me to return to him. "Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me."

I huff, not unlike Archer would. "My teacher said the only words to take into consideration are from people who are important."

"And you do not think you yourself is important? Where you not vying just last night with the man clad in red that you belong among us?"

I don't know how to reply to that, so I simply don't. I peek back at him to see his magnificent gaze tracing the bobbing ripples in the river. We sit silently for a moment, and while I'd really APPRECIATE the opportunity to understand everything, there are more pressing questions on my mind right now.

"No one ever called you wise?" I pester gently. Lancer's brow furrows a little as he thinks it over. He responds in due time. "I am sure one of my sons must have said it once, but I do not recall it. I highly doubt I would have allowed such a comment to pass by, however."

"You had a son?" I can't help but speak with surprise – him, a heroic spirit, a legend, a fairytale!

"Oh yes, four, actually." His face falls apart at the memory of the family left behind in the tide of time. "Yes. I recall it now. He called me wise when we were building a new shed. I was wise to him because I knew to place the door on the East side, so that we could-"  
"So you could watch the sun rise." I interject quietly. He turns back to me. His black hair seems at one with the space above us. "Yes, precisely." He sighs and lets his gaze trail back to the buoy in the river. "That was what made me a wise man. I wish my father could have heard that."

"I didn't know you had kids. I bet they were something special."  
"Every child is special, dear Kazumi. Mine were simply… perfect. Perfect beyond belief."

This is nice. I can almost feel the sun on my back too. "Were you married?"  
The silence lingers longer than usual here. The buoy bobs too and fro before he responds; and when he does, he stands up, leaving me behind as he reenters his few memories.

"Yes, I was married. I _loved_ her, and she loved me. She was precious, my Grainne. Her beauty is eternal and shall never be matched by this wretched world." He quickly pulls the thread off his Gáe Dearg. His fingers are nimble, almost like Berserker's piano-players', but I know it's from long practice of a different skill. How do you skin a hare, after all?

"Why do you treat me so kindly?" He tosses his hook down in the blank space on the ground beside me; it was made of some twine.

"Why must you ask that?"  
"I don't mean to compare, but Archer isn't all that kind, and he…. Kinda has a point… sometimes."

He huffs in his own way, an acknowledgment of my words. "Because you remind me of her." His lanky legs weave over boulders until he finds a proper perch.  
Do I dare ask?

"Who?"  
"My daughter." He spears a salmon within seconds, easily the biggest one yet.

Finally, he looks back at me. His eyes are sad, yet… fulfilled. "You remind me of my daughter."

"So... it wasn't just four sons."

Lancer throws the fish down on the pile. "No, she was the last of our children. Grainne wanted a daughter so _desperately_." He leans against his spear, clean of the blood he spilled hundreds of years ago. "And she was so… _perfect_."

His aggression towards the fish makes me guilty; he wasn't like that before I came over. It's all my fault.

"I'm sorry," I begin, standing and brushing water droplets and dirt off my jeans. "I'll go back to the others."

"Wait."

I turn around and face him. He is hesitant at first, but makes his way in a single bound across the simple river.

The sky is dark, and in each direction, shadows linger with the most malevolent of intentions. The trees sway at bay to the vile breeze, a stiff wind cold as an unsheltered child.

He stands in front of me, his broad chest inches from my face. I look up at him as he thinks his words over. I smile a little, encouraging, and patient.

"I am a knight of Fionne. Do you know what that means?"  
"…"

I don't blink. I can tell he needs this off his chest. How long has it been since he's really spoken his mind?  
His dark hair wrestles the uncaring breeze. I don't feel cold though… I'm not cold at all.

"That means that I am a killer. I am an unforgivable killer in my time and no code of chivalry can make up for that, not when chivalry is dead in an age such as this." His orange eyes bleed as he speaks. "I used to think my code of conduct was a reason to fight forward, if I do not have my family to defend. But if there is nothing to fight for, as my code is absent today, and my pride all but lost memories of a time long forgotten… tell me, do you truly think me a wise man? Why do you not fear a killer such as myself?"

He's practically praying with his eyes alone, praying to hear what he fears. Do I tell him how I genuinely feel, or tell him what he wants to hear?

"I… the biggest fight I've ever been in is _with_ _myself_. I don't know how to march in war, and the thought of even trying _terrifies_ me." I glance down and wring my hands, but refocus on him. Diarmuid remains unchanged. "You… well, all of you have fought actual battles before. It's a crazy thought, since war seems to bring out the worst in people. I mean, we had a world war a while ago – well, I wasn't around for it, but in the big scheme of things I guess it really wasn't all that long ago – and some really, really horrible stuff happened. I thought… well, what I'm trying to say… I guess I'm just saying there's difference between fighting for the moment and fighting for the future. It takes a lot to stand in a war like you guys all did, and even more to bring the peace you fought for.

You sign up for war knowing you may never come back. If nothing else, you're brave as hell."

He smiles beautifully, defeat in his heart. "Bravery is nothing more than glorified exuberance. That is not a characteristic of a wise man."

"No, I don't think so." He cocks his head as he arches a brow. "A wise man's really just a deep-seated guy. You see the truth of the world and you question it – if that's not wisdom… well, I don't know what is. Besides, you do still have your family to fight for." He reclines slightly, startled by the suggestion. "What do you mean?"  
"Didn't you know? Its said some Scottish clan is filled with your descendants, or at least the descendants of the people who aspired to be like you. If you won't fight for the moment, you're still welcome to fight for the future."

He stands, [shocked], his mouth slightly agape. I can see his eyes shaking slightly in realization, as he raises his hands to the heavens.

"You speak the truth?" His voice is low, almost non-audible.

"Yeah. They claim to be your descendants, I'm sure of it. The crest is a boar, we had a quiz in first year on the clans of Ireland and the noble families of Scotland." _Are you okay?_ I almost asked.

He's laughing. It's a beautiful and weak thing at first, but picks up fervor like swallows dancing the sky away. Lancer raises his hands and drops them behind his head as he spins on his heel.

I thought they learned everything about the world when they materialized. I guess its just the modern world, or maybe the reception's spotty this go 'round.

He laughs fully and finishes his spin by wrapping his arms around me. His squeeze is something ferocious, and his body shakes with joy.

He holds tightly. I think he's found his peace.

Heh. And to think _I'm_ the one who helped him.

I wrap my arms around him, and he releases all too soon. He holds me at arms length. Was he crying just now?

I smile with all my heart, wedging my eyes shut. "So, I guess whether or not chivalry's dead, or you're dead, there's always someone you've impacted greatly. Does that answer your question? I'm not afraid of you because you're not someone to fear, but someone to… to respect." When I open my eyes, it's not me he's looking at.

I doubt I look anything like his daughter did, but I'm sure he's seeing her right now.

.

.

.

* * *

**I was rewatching _Fate/Zero_ to get some notes on the characterization, and I couldn't help but break down a bit at Lancer's death; why? Because, right beforehand, someone confronted him with respect, something he spent his entire life fighting for (in the legend, at least). The clan referenced is a Highland Scottish clan, Clan Campbell. It's a pretty widespread one with a few ties to royalty, and the surname is prevalent today. Who knows, maybe you're a descendent of Diarmuid? :P As to the "knowing everything when they materialize," I think Diarmuid actually knew this legend, but to hear it from someone made it a little more real than a long-lost hope. The fact that someone acknowledged it as a fact, someone so far from his homeland, would have meant the world to him.**

**I love Diarmuid. The ending he was given in Fate/Zero really didn't do him justice. If it wasn't clear, I'm a little biased when it comes to sexy men of moral.**

**Shits gonna go down pretty soon, we're pretty much bridging into the climax of the story. I'll keep uploading at least bi-weekly**


	24. Sheep on the Battlefield

Archer glares unconditionally at me when I return to the main camp with Lancer.

"You shouldn't just get up and leave."

"Thanks for the clothes."

He huffs, folding his arms across his chest and kicking up his chin at me. His white hair dances in the almost morning light.

Speaking of which…

"So, where's the sun?"

Berserker smiles form his place beside Archer – in comparison, he's nearly two full head's shorter than Archer. He looks way younger, too. I bet Archer was giving him hell the whole time. "The sky isn't deprived of the sun, forsay, as much as it is simply unwilling to grant it to us." He turns a little and points up beyond the tree tops. I make my way over to his side to follow his finger. "See? Up there? The colors… are… disoriented?" He looks at me, praying internally that he's making sense to a noob like me.

No, it's a perfect way to describe it. When I enhance my eyes, I can see exactly what he's saying; it can't be any larger than a pea at arm's length in size, but the colors contract around themselves, hues of blue, black, and purple swirling like the eye of some hurricane.

"No, I get it. What's happening?"

"The atmosphere cast over the region is a sort of… umbrella, due to added elements in the space around us. We cannot see the sun because we are in a dome of sorts, but the solar light is penetrating the dome's imperfections."

"Fair enough."

"I am concerned, however, about the expansion of this 'dome.'" He drops his arm to cup his chin in a dainty hand. "At the rate it appears to have been expanding o'ernight, I would be surprised it if didn't cover the latter half of this hemisphere."

"Shit. You're kidding."

The little scientist is taken back by my expression. "Well… no, I am not excreting in humor."

"No, that's not what I-"

"We need to discuss our plan of action," Archer interrupts, taking a step closer to us. He's like a dog that's desperate for attention. Lancer takes his place on a jagged stone beside us, perched with one of his staffs digging into the earth. He tosses the string of fish that was slung over his shoulder on to the ground between us. "Agreed. Let us get to the details, we are running out of time."

And I'm not gonna lie, I didn't catch all of it. But between bites of magically-cooked fish (thanks to Berserker snapping his fingers a few times) and another few birds Archer took down for us, I _think_ I caught most of it. The important parts, that is.

I stand up and wipe my hands on my jeans, which are defiantly going to be thrown away at the end of all of this, interrupting Archer as he argues with Lancer… _again_.

"What?" He spits, furious as ever. "Please tell me you are still paying attention."

"I need some air."

"You can keep breathing right _here_. We need to-"

"_Archer_," I look up at him, shutting him up momentarily. "The plan is _fine_. It will _work_. I don't see any problems with it."

"Clearly. You would if you had the mental capacity beyond that of a primate."

"Enough, nameless man." Lancer's leaning back against the same stone as earlier, one leg propped up as he rubs the tension out of his brow. "You truly must not talk to Ms. Hashimoto in such a disrespectful manner."

"Well, someone needs to." Archer straightens up to his full height as his eyes shoot daggers at Lancer. "You forget this fool hardly has the makings of a mage, let alone a soldier. You have too many expectations for her here. She can't do it."

"Shut the fuck up."

Berserker reclines from beside me as Lancer heaves a sigh. Archer arches a brow, folding his arms (for the millionth time). I glare at him, this ruby protect o' mine, matching him eye for eye.

"I. am going. to get. some air."

"No you're-" I'm already on my heel, walking in the opposite direction. I walk until I can't hear him anymore, and Lancer erupts behind me in rage. Berserker says something too, but I can't make it out.

I'm followed by silence, an eerie silence that comes from being in a dead, frightened forest, and I walk until I can't anymore. I lean face first into a tree and sigh as some drapes materialize behind me. They drop slowly, flanking his sides.

I keep walking. Then he walks beside me. Then he walks in front of me. As if he's going to lead me anywhere! But I fall into place behind him without thinking: he is my protector, after all. That's what he's been doing from the beginning.

"I don't like this."

"Clearly," I retort, hands on my hips as we march further from the group. I'm following him like I always have, but when he pauses I feel in instant sense if intimidating apprehension. "What's your problem, Archer? You don't think I'm good enough for this?"

"What, you do?"

"Shut up," I bark, folding my arms over my chest. "It doesn't matter how I feel about it, because it'll work."

"And what makes you say that, _girl_?" Archer turns around and marches up to me, angry eyes marrying his handsome face. "What on Earth makes you possibly think that this will work?"

"You don't trust me! You don't think I can do it!"

"No, it's not that - you're avoiding the question."

"Okay, then… then it'll work because I trust you guys!" I shout furiously, flustered as I stumble over my words and my cheeks turn pink. _Shit, I can't take that back, can I_?

"Girl, I came here to-"

"Okay, _enough_ with the degrading tone!" I wave my hands between the two of us. His eyes are slightly narrowed, giving off a slightly smokey amber look of dismay. "If we're going to have an honest conversation, I want you to speak to me with respect. I might be younger than the rest of you…. and inexperienced…. and new to this end-of-the-world crap, but I'm still capable of seeing eye-to-eye! I'm willing to try, isn't that enough?"

"And that will be the death of you!" His voice rises as he speaks over me. "Why the hell do you think I've been trying to keep you safe this whole time? Did the thought ever cross your simple little mind? Did you ever take a moment to think over how mortal you are, compared to the rest of us?"

I march off – not in the direction of confused Lancer and Berserker, but just away from it all.

Who does he think he is? _Doesn't he see that __**I**__ see this?_

He follows me after a moment, and we're back to square one – this time, my back is to him, and he stands behind me. I can't put into words how I feel right now – humiliated? Broken? I'm scared as hell, that's for sure, but up to five minutes ago I felt capable of stepping forward. Now the guy who's been with me from the beginning is breaking me down?

_Who am I kidding_.

I thought this whole time that… I don't know, I was important or something. That I was _destined_ for something greater than the measly life I've had. My fate was going to slide me off my feet and dance me away… I, I was going to be something beyond average! Something worth standing up for! Some_one_ worth standing up for!

But all I am to this asshole is a burden.

_I'm fuming. _

I'm pissed!

I…

I'm _scared_.

"So I'm… I'm nothing more than a tool for you, is that it? I'm just a fool that's going to be killed. This whole mess happened because of me, and everyone's going to die because of me – I'm nothing more than a fat mistake."

.

The heavy pause confirms my fears. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my forearms in frustration. A single tear swells in the cradle of my eye.

But I refuse to let it fall.

.

"Where I come from," his voice lingers on the hinge of time itself, "you are so much more than that." I stiffen at his words:_ they're nothing more than lies._

"I didn't come here to serve someone – a master, a grudge– but for a personal purpose." My head shakes as he rounds my shoulder to face me; it's the easiest way to avoid his sharp eyes. They are softening in a way I didn't think was physically possible, and I can't bear to see the stoic demigod he is all _soft_ like this. "You are of so much value to the future, and to throw it all away now is nonsense."

"Shut the hell up."

"Let me speak. You _do_ remember that the Grail must bring forth a willing Heroic Spirit, don't you?" I slowly close my eyes to shut him out.

"I am not from this time, but I _am_ from this place." He reaches for my hand, this full-grown man, this nameless face, but I yank it away. "Where I am from, your brother lived." I glance at him but force my eyes away. _How dare he speak of Takao with his fatass lies_! "Your brother went on to pave a bright future for magecraft on an international scale. And he came back to Japan to find you dead."

I… I _die_. I die, where he's from. Takao is alive, somewhere.

No, _he's_ _lying_.

"You're lying." I try to be militant, but my voice is weak.

Archer keeps going. "You died for reasons unknown to the public. You were young, and that triggered a reaction in your brother no one could have expected. He worked day and night to end violence in every way possible." I can almost see him crossing his arms over his broad chest, mimicking me in his frustration. "That is how I got to know him. We worked together, Takao and I, and he helped me find my targets.

You never asked how I became a Heroic Spirit. I became a Heroic Spirit by killing hundreds in order to save thousands. Then thousands to save millions. And _your_ _brother helped me_."

"SHUT UP!" I scream, stomping like the brat I am. "Shut up shut up shut up! No more lies, you fucking monster! Stop talking about Takao like that! HE is DEAD, Archer! He _died_!" I step closer to him, my body shaking just as much as my voice. "And he would _never_ condemn someone to be killed by the likes of _you_."

"Not where I am from. Your death fuels your brother. He realizes the ultimate truth. H-"

"And what _is_ this truth, pray tell?"

"That you simply cannot save everyone. That, in order to save someone, someone else must be sacrificed." I don't say anything (what kind of a truth is THAT?) and he continues. "When I died, your brother and a few others were left waiting for me to return. And we spoke once about the girl he called sister. She - no, you-"

"SHUT UP!"

"You were brash and so self-centered, yet so unaware of your potential as a person. You were a girl that had the world sitting on a silver platter, but didn't have the ambition to go out and get it. Your brother wanted to guide you, but you wouldn't accept his help. You-"

"_Shut. Up."_

"You died, Kazumi Hashimoto. You are dead where I came from." The burn of his eyes on the top of my head diminishes. I look up to see him glancing sideways, unable to look at me. "But here, something I left behind several years ago was found by your brother. This corruption of the Holy Grail, combined with my carelessness, leads to Takao's death. Here, there is nothing I can do to protect him. But I can protect the one thing that meant the most to him."

We are silent. I want to walk away from him, but I physically can't – my legs are swollen, and they refuse to move.

So I hunker down and wrap my arms around my legs, head down in defeat.

Kill me now, you fucker. Kill me now like your words have.

"I thought for the longest time that the sacrifice was unavoidable." I can't see his expression, but I see him take a few steps to look up in another direction. "I thought… I thought that not being able to save everyone was the essence of trying to save everyone. That thinking it all through was but naught. That the world was either kill or be killed, and it took one hell of a slap to the face… well, a sword to the stomach, if I'm being truthful," his voice falls wistful and ironic, as if he's reflecting on something a million miles away. "For me to realize that this was no truth."

He plops down, ungracefully, unpoetically. For two minutes, his walls are down as he sits beside me – leg kicked out straight, the other bent with his forearm slung across it. The warrior I feared and the soldier I relied on has melted into nothing more than a man.

I look at him.

He won't look at me, this scarlet savior. His eyes trace the stars above, the unnatural stars that won't give light to the sun. He leans back, all of his weight on his other arm, propping himself up, holding his head as high as he can without sulking down into the exhausted Earth.

He has never had anyone to rely on; well, he has, but he never gave himself that luxury. He always took care of himself and overlooked those in his life.

"Because that sacrifice could be myself, and as painful as it is to admit and uphold, I posses the strength to carry that pain." The breeze stirs his hair from the back, forcing it forward onto his brow.

For an instant, I can almost see a red-headed boy from a dream a million years ago. Almost.

He turns to me, eyes soft, no longer weighed down by the devastation of the real world. "You need to remember what can and cannot happen. You need to be reminded of your limits – because, as you said, you are the only normal one here. I would never forgive myself if I let you die." He turns back to the stars. "That promise I made a few years ago is the only thing I can hold on to. It is my only reason for being here as a so-called Heroic Spirit, and I would be nothing more than a bastard if I broke that."

How do you respond to that? Honestly, can you tell me now?

All I can do is cringe as my ears burn with everything they have. I curl tighter to avoid everything and everyone around me… maybe if I get small enough, tight enough, everything will slip away.

Maybe I should just nullify myself. I bet that if I go null long enough, I might just kill myself. I could do that, I could do that easily, given the circumstances.

"That shield."

I look up, instantly and painfully aware of the tears in my eyes.

_This is nonsense._

"It's a replica of Rho Aias. The holy shield of a Greek hero. He was a critical soldier in the Trojan War and was trained by a centaur."

"That's not possible." I huff, exhausted just by listing to him. I see him smile his wry little smile and roll his eyes. "Really? After everything you've seen in the last day, that's what you're caught up on?" He turns to look at me but notices how I crumbled at his sass. He sighs (it's a silent one, but I can hear his chest rise and fall in the awkward silence) and tries again. "Either way, after he was declared a hero, he still wanted to avenge his fallen comrades and wanted to kill the surviving enemies – Odysseus and Agamemnon, in particular. In his rage he killed a herd of sheep… not a particularly sinister thing, but he was so torn up about it he killed himself when he came to his senses." I rub my eyes violently as he gently presses on.

"To think that he survived one of the most horrific wars of humankind, yet killed himself over some spilled sheep blood… its awful ironic. He could have become so much more than that, but he's defined by his final actions and the things he left behind. So, he's the man who killed some sheep because he was pissed, and dropped a shield for a lone boy to buy in a knack store, _apparently_." I can see his fingers curl and straighten as he is irritated by his own story. "Imagine that. Being a national hero in the strongest corner of this little world, only to die a discarded rumor."

"Is that what you're afraid of?"

"No. You know I already died; I no longer have a reason to drag a sword across the Earth to engrave my name. I forgot my name for the longest time, believe it or not."

"Then why the hell are you telling me this?"

His white hair dances a little in the gentle wind. "Because you being here is the ultimate irony. You will be an active participant in the world's greatest magi war, yet you will only be seen as a sheep-killer, if anyone lives to know what happens today. For that reason, I don't think you should be here."

"But maybe it isn't irony." He pulls his leg in and sits up straight before standing up. "Maybe its fate." He walks to me and waits for me.

I look up to see him offering his hand.

It's a gentlemanly notion, even from this asshole.

I hesitate, but take it. He is gentle, this man coated in red, this man without a name.

"I know this is overwhelming. I know this is tiring, and I know there are a thousand other places to be right now. But while you are here and alive, I vow to protect you. I will kill thousands to keep that promise, if it falls to that. But do you see why I don't like this plan?"

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I can't protect you from everything. What we're about to do is something no one has tried before, from what I hear. I can protect you from whatever Caster throws at you, but what I can't do is protect you from what happens afterwards."

"Like?"

"Ever hear of PTSD? I can shoulder the burdens of the world, but no one can shoulder your burdens but yourself, and this will be a burden unparalleled."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because its hard to lose a partner. You're going to lose us all. I can't protect you from that."

.

.

.

* * *

**Do you know who the original owner of Rho Aias was? A guy some called Aias, but I know him as Ajax. Sophocles wrote about him, I suggest you look it up. Ajax has two endings actually, one of which is Sophocles' play, the other is the more original telling. I chose Sophocles' ending because it was the more memorable of the two; in the other telling, Ajax is furious and sorrowed by the fact that he wasn't awarded Achilles' magic armor (instead it was given to Odysseus, and as you can imagine, he kinda earned it…) and he fell upon his sword in grief. Either way, he's an emotional teenager with an incredible sword and shield ;)**


	25. Take Action

His hands fell to his side, releasing me as I curl mine into my chest. Am I afraid? Yeah, I guess so. I have plenty of reason to be. I'm dead in one reality, something I'm sure to follow pretty quickly in this one.

I could fail, falling short of everything. I could drop my gun in the middle of the battlefield. I could get a bug in my eye. Hell, I could trip.

I trace the grass as they sway under the options.

He has a point, you know. I was well aware of it from the beginning; I could walk away. I could leave this to the guys. I could hunker down under that shield and hope for the best.

His drapes breeze into view, cutting off my line of vision. Archer's eyes have a horrifying color in them, a daunting unnamed force pinning me down. As I look up at him, his face is hard-set as always, but something else flickers across him.

He _isn't_ afraid, that's not it.

Is he… holding something back? Hiding something?

Whose to say I can actually trust him, anyway? If I met him on the street, he'd be the last man I'd entrust my life to.

.

.

.

.

.

"Ready?"  
"Yeah, I think so. I just need a few minutes." Lancer watches me carefully, his protective nature blooming in the dim, grey world. Berserker adjusts his cuffs and glasses,

And just like that

Everything fell apart.

I can feel the warmth seeping over my clothes before I can register the sound of metal against my back. It's an odd sound, the sound of a sword cutting into you. It's not unlike a lamb being hacked gently away.

But I just can't… _understand_.

Why do I suddenly… _feel_ _so_ _weak_?  
Where is this drowseyness coming from?

Who's yelling? Why are people yelling?

My eyes… they feel so heavy. I can feel myself dropping to my knees, but I don't remember my legs buckling under me. I don't remember telling my hand to run over my back, but now it glistens in front of me, shiny and wet.

The wetness is warm. The wetness… is red.

Is this… _my_ blood?

Someone holds me as they shout. Someone cradles me to their chest, and someone picks me up. Someone drops me, but I'm too… too tired to care.

_This_…

I'm fading away.

_This is part of the plan. _

No, this pain… this wasn't part of the plan.

I pull my eyes open for just a moment – just long enough to see Lancer's pleading face calling out to me. My head rolls and I catch sight of Berserker with his fists clentched and mouth open.

It looks… it looks like he's yelling at Archer.

_Archer_… he has two swords in his hands.

.

.

.

That's right, I've seen those before. They're pretty when they're clean… but one is… dirty.

Lancer holds me by the back of my head as he tries to sit me up. He speaks to me, but I don't hear it. He brushes my hair away as my mouth fills with the taste of blood.

_This_….

This is what it feels like to die.

I wonder if Takao felt like this.

Don't feel bad, Lancer. You're a legend, it's not… right for you to cry over a nobody like me. Don't let your eyes get misty like that, Lancer. Please.

Please. I'm begging you. I can't be the cause of your pain.

_This is so weird._

I wonder what my parents will think. What Hiro will think. What my classmates will think.

I'm so sorry guys. I'm sorry I wasn't there at graduation. I'm running a little late… that's it, I'm running a little late, that's all.

But here I am; I can't think about that right now. Graduation is in a few weeks, I need to think about the present.

God, it's… getting so hard to think.

I reach up to the face that blurs just out of my reach. I can hardly register his outline now.

Hell, I can almost see myself leaning down.

How the hell is that happening? I lunge a little at my figure, but it doesn't react. Lancer tightens his grip around me as I choke on something.

It's probably blood.

My oh my.

This is it.

I'm sorry I couldn't contribute. I'm sorry I couldn't shoulder your burden, I'm sorry I couldn't march alongside you in this war.

I'm sorry you were alone in the darkness, Berserker. Hopefully the light of the last day was enough for you to feel warm inside again.

I'm sorry about your family, Lancer. I'm sorry about your country. I'm sorry about bleeding all over you.

Red is such an ugly color. I'm sure it'll wash out.

I can't see Archer, though.

_I want to see him._

Where is he? Is he fighting? Is he bleeding?

_He did this to me._

Well, I'd rather have him cut me than _me_ cut me, you know?

_He brought this down on me._

That's okay. With everything he's gone through, that's okay. He's saved the world. It's okay to be killed by a hero.

That's it.

_I'm dying_

I can feel my lungs crumble inside of me. I can feel my body contract as pain swells. Every sensation of death – the intoxicating smell of blood, the washing over of my vision, drowning in the rising tide of darkness, the sound of blood flooding my ears – it encases me. It swallows me, _me_, a mere, mortal person.

But I can't feel sadness.

Aren't people supposed to be sad when they die?

Oh well.

I guess I failed again.

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* * *

**Can you believe this story's been a work in progress for about a year now? Whooo-eee where'd the time go?**

**Either way, a few short updates are coming up, so I'll be sure to be a little more frequent than usual**


	26. Foiled

The fog should have long-gone lifted by ten o'clock in the evening, yet here it lingers in the sunless world.

Nearly nothing can be seen through the bleak, ominous darkness but the thick soup of depressed clouds lulling around in their haunting manner.

Nothing, that is, but the racing bulk of steel-clad armor, one hand on the hilt of the knight's loyal sword, the other thrown back in the intensity of the hunt.

Blood is in the air, and like any English hound, the knight chases the sent hungrily: a savage, primitive instinct driving the warrior forward.

Unbeknownst to the human eye glides a shadow beside the prong-horned knight. The fog cringes as the two speed through, gusts of clouds being carelessly ripped at their inhumane speeds.

Neither knight nor nightmare speak, for there are no words to be exchanged; they have a mission, and that is the only thing of value in this wretched world.

They come to an abrupt halt at the hilt of a mountainside, side-faced to a man in silk red robes.

The knight clutches tighter to its sword. The nightmare steps closer, its voice absurdly pleasing to the virgin ear. "Archer, what are you doing here?" the man has a tightly wound face, jaw clenched in frustration. In his hands are his balance, his ying and yang, his swords. The drapes are not the only thing spilling red from his body; at his feet, freshly-torn puddle seeps into his shoes. A mangled mass bleeds at his feet, blond hair tousled, finely-groomed overcoat now crimson.

Archer turns, frontways. "I know where my intent lies, but I have no reason to trust you."

The nightmare takes several seconds before replying. "We are allied with Caster, whom seeks to tear a hole in the fabric of this reality." A sweet, daydreamy voice falls through the cracks of the shadowy hooded figure. "What happened here?" The bowman arches an elegant brow. "Why should I tell you?"

Saber steps forward but Assassin drapes a hand out before her war-ready puppet. _Not yet_.

"Because you have no reason to distrust us, where as your former comrades apparently now do. We can offer protection at the least, our aid at the most."  
Archer hesitates before he scuffs and kicks the body. "It is as it would appear. I thought I could use that fool of a girl to escape back to my place outside of this bloody war, but the fools delayed my plans."

"Berserker and Lancer."

"Yes. I couldn't belay my act any longer and attempted to kill the girl - my _ only cut so deep. This sapling of a Berserker attempted to foil me, but he was easily defeated in his haste. Lancer recognized the fault he was in and took off with the girl barely clinging to life under his arm."

The knight relaxes slightly and picks up its head to the cold atmosphere. _Ahhhh, the scent still lingers. _The nightmare notices this but keeps her keen eyes on the man in red. "And why should we trust the likes of you, Archer?" He cocks his head, hands tightening around the hilts of his blades. "Think what you want, I don't care for how you see me. I want to meet this Caster of ours."

"And why now is that?" The hooded figure's sweet voice sails through the cold air. "Why would you want that?"

"If you aren't disgracing yourself by lying to me, he may be essential for me to return home. If not, I was dragged out here because of this damned Grail war. This world is not mine, I have no obligation to protect it."

"This world is not your own." The voice is violent, deep, and unsettling. It is a question. Archer glares at the knight. "What's it to you, medieval _dog_?"

The silver sword is drawn from its sheath.

"Enough." Assassin steps closer to her companion, sticking out an arm to divide to two warring forces. "He will want to meet with this man."

"He is a traitor."  
"I side with the side most likely to win, and as I said, I have no obligation to protect this world. I have no further use for that girl, Lancer was delaying me too long. That girl was a nuisance as well, I only wish my blow was deep enough."

A shadowy sleeve drapes down, and out pours a flock of violent, red-eye crows. Every feather catches the twilight gleam as they radiate with madness. They take off into the night, a flock of plague-ridden death-bringers, except for one which catches the current of the air. It beats its wings as it hovers beside its master, then turns to take off Southbound.

"Through these trees, back where the conflict began. Caster is at the beachside beside the red bridge in Fuyuki. Attend to him. This raven will take you there."

Archer begins to walk away, leaving his fresh carcass to soak the ground; Assassin inspects the body before turning one last time to the man in red. "Take Berserker with you. He is still alive, his prana will provide a fresh source of energy for Caster."

Archer hesitates before turning back around, arms falling to his side, twin swords gone. He picks up the body by the head, gripping a wrathful fistful of hair, and drags it along the ground.

That face could have been called handsome, once. Beautiful, even.

Assassin watches keenly as Archer takes his leave, the crow leading him as it bays at the bleeding moon. She turns back around to her companion, who waits just before the thickest part of the forest: even in the darkness, the knight's glistening armor glows with the glory of war. The shadow takes to her companion's side as Archer leaps away.

No words are said.

That situation was unexpected, to say the least. But it is past.

Assassin nods, and Saber turns to where the pack of ravens last were.

_That way_.

And they're gone.

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* * *

As he scales the small nation, Archer looks back at where he last saw Assassin and Saber. He leaps again, lands, and carefully lays the body on the ground.

Beautiful, yes. He rearranges his catch to bundle it closely to his chest in an almost paternal way. This person once breathed a free life, a life without the horrors of reality.

But reality is a bitch, and this insolent fool took too large a bite.

Archer looks forward, the wind tussling his white hair as he pinpoints Caster's exact location on the beach.

This is it.

It has all come down to this.

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* * *

**Happy Friday**


	27. The Pursuit

It didn't take too long for Saber and Assassin to close in on their prey. Through the forest they ran in heat of the chase, slowing down as the sound of the ravens up ahead became closer and closer. A trail of black birds gleam on the ground, leading to a man in a mass of beating black wings. Lancer's iridescent confidence is diminished as the two close in, his loyal Gae Dearg striking down the last of the ravens. Once a man of glorious composure, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne's royal uniform reeks of innocent blood.

Blood that, to his eye, was akin to that of his beloved daughter's.

He stands atop a lone hill in a meadow. The grass is long, not unlike that of his home country; long and wild, like the spirit of the long-departed.

He turns, body heaving with each breathe, violence burning in his orange eyes. He stands straddling his burden, a small body trying to heave itself up. "Stay down!" Lancer hisses, turning his full body to the on-comers. He swings his lance too and fro, another one appearing in the thicket of the darkness. He uses the one in his right hand, one red as rivers stained from devastation, to point at his challengers. "Leave here, now!" He roars, chin stubbornly sticking up, velvet black hair gloriously tossed to the side. "Leave, and don't you dare follow us!"

But there are no words.

Saber's foot crunches the fallen leaves as it prepares to spring forward. And it does.

In a flash, the silver body is across the meadow and flying up the hill. The heavy sword swings, slicing the space before Lancer's eye clean in half.

But he is not low in energy - oh, no, this man is far from exhausted; and with the adrenaline of the need to protect driving him forward, he is roaring to kill.

The two embark on a journey few mortals can parallel. The naked eye cannot bear witness to the glory of their battle, and its serenade into eternity.

For, in truth, this is the battle of life itself. The noble at wit's end, fending off the disgusting. The honorary, Arthurian sword in hand, fending off the barbaric. Race against race. Religion against religion. Good against bad, great against undeniably unbeatable.

And yet their ideals mirror one another, which is the reason why this war will never end: at the end of the day, it is ideals that wars are fought over. The ideals here are no less alike than they are different from one another, and the ambition to control tomorrow drives the sword against the lance.

The need to spill blood is what drives humans forward.

It is off the drive to destroy that tomorrow emerges.

It is off the need to domesticate the unconquered that these respectable warriors were beckoned into the darkness of killing.

And thus they slay one another; or rather, they try to. Speed and agility of the Gods course through their feet and hands, slamming tool against tool in violent confrontation.

Yet, it ultimately takes too long.

Lancer, the noble Lancer, the light of Ireland, cannot react in time to the shadow that materializes beside him. A husk deprived of humanity, a shadow of deprivation itself, is what ultimately drive a knife into his side.

Saber steps back as Assassin twists her wretched handle. The blade shoots fire through the man's body, forcing a scream of inhumane measures to erupt from his mouth. Like a boar, a boar screeching as it drives a fatal blow into a corrupt world.

She yanks the blade out and drops it to her side.

He collapses, weapons still in hand. He twitches on the ground, curling in agony as his honorable heart bleeds from within. The woman sits on her heels and leans over the man's beautiful body, tracing her index finger along the many groves of his body. He reaches – oh, how far he reaches! – for the body to his right. The woman's unseeable eyes trace his efforts. Assassin laughs, despite herself, as she repositions herself between Lancer and the still breathing mortal he fought so hard to protect.

"I am sorry, this is rather rude of me," her sing-song voice breaks the atmosphere like a diamond scratching glass, her hand still tracing the man's ravishing back. "I know the manliest of knights dignify themselves with a burial before their beloved, but alas you fight alone and thus will _die_ alone." Her free hand shoots up to the moon, fingers spread just to grasp the reddening light in her small fist. "The moon shall be the only witness to this."

.

.


	28. Red Eyes

The man in red lands on the sand, gently but abrupt, disturbing the peace of the lapping water. It is almost an identical location to where the madness began; here, however, the sand gives way to loose soil and a mushy undersurface. The muddy bank pulls everyone down and the weight on their shoulders take desperate hold of them, but the strong pull through, stepping forward and into the refreshing water. The raven overhead bays at the dark sun, alerting the shadows and waking the dead.

Before the man in red stands a hunched figure. In the unusually darkness, the figure seems black, but hints of purple in his robes breathe life into the still creature. A head turns as the raven lands on his tattooed arm, the bird's red eyes suddenly unseeing as information – and, unfortunately, life – is drained from it. The feathers turn grey, and the bird teeters off, falling to dust as the man fully turns around to his guest.

"Greetings, dearly tragic! You have a gift for me!"

The man in red suddenly scowls, remembering his place in his world – he is but a tool. A tool done with the toil of living.

"It depends," he hints an argument, "on what you have to offer me." He drops the burden, lowering it closer to the ground before letting go.

But the hunched figure sways as it spins around to face the man, taking the newcomer by surprise. The figure bears no scars, but rather multiple creases on its protruding forehead. Eyes too large to fit the decayed skull spin, refusing to line up properly on the subject of the hour. Short black hair rises and falls as if controlled by an invisible lifeforce, swaying in the wind, indifferent to the chilly atmosphere.

_Its those eyes_, the asshole of an angel concludes. _It's those eyes that are causing all of this. _

Who are you." Again, it is an assertion, not a question, that lingers on those last three words.

The shadow'y figure takes a bow, a smile stretched to inhumane lengths across his face.

"I am Gilles De Reis."

_No. You are the fool that killed Hashimoto Takao._

"And who does me the honor of j_oooo_ining me this beau_uuu_tiful evening?"

The man in red remains unchanged. Gilles De Reis? No, this is no man, this is hardly considered a living being. It is twisted, its reality and fantasy warped into one heaping mess.

"Well, you see, silent suitor, you are here by my bidding. I apol_ooo_gize for disturbing your peace of mind in that accursed cup." He lifts a thin fist to the heavens and shakes it at the black hole where the sun once stood. "But this is for my holy conquest! It is to avenge my fallen angel, the bring her blessed soul back to the land of the living!" He spins back around to the man in red, eyes crooked like his god-awful smile. "But it would appear you brought me a gift. Oh, no matter the mind of your name, and no matter the gift." Archer's poker face falls apart _– no, he has enough mana now?_ **How** _can this be? _\- as he reclines a step in shock. Caster raises both arms to the bleak, abandoned heavens, oblivious to the man's reaction. "I have been reaping enough lost souls in this sinful wasteland to summon the grail once more, and I am so_ooo_ joyful to share this momentous occasion with another sinner!"

"Why are you doing all of this."

The question is, as it always has been, foreboding and frank. Caster looks back over his shoulder at the man, but a shadow drapes his handsome, hard face. Both are silent as the water laps at the weak, softshored bay; that is, until, Archer raises his eyes to Caster. "What is your motive for summoning the grail time and time again?"

"Ah! I see you have read through my initial words! Please, allow me to explain." He bows once more, wild eyes set on his ultimate prize. "Not but some years ago, I was a victim of this sinnerly cup and its petty wars. And in the final, ablazed moment before my departure, I recognized my fault. Why _oh why_ am I here, but my grace and glory Jeanne d'Arc has failed to be so? Is this so-assumed cup truly a blessing? If so, it oh so ve_rrr_y must contain my beloved's essence as it does mine. So, why not runnith the cup over?" He shrugs, his cards out on the table. "I have nothing to hid from a kindred spirit who seeks resolution in his peace. After having killed oh so many, what prevents you from joining me in the final killing of the evening?"

Archer clenches his fists. "You know who I am."

"Ind_eeee_d I do! We are knots on the opposite ends of a lace woven by God himself! And who but our dear small girl holds that string together?"

"I thought you said you had enough prana."

"Well, I do now, thanks to yo_uuuu_!" He walks closer, a calm before the store settling in his unsettling eyes. "At the death of the bloodied witness here, all shall be achieved. I will continue to runnith over the Holy Grail until my precious Jeanna d'Arc returns to me. A_nnnnn_d, once she is beside me again, we will play this garden of Earth until the very clouds in heaven are bloodstained! So, what shall it be," the bloodied Caster, one of the most infamous people in the history of humankind, clasps his hands together in glee. "Shall we peel apart this insolent child of god?"

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* * *

**Of all the madmen out there, I pegged Gilles to be one of the worst. The legend of Gilles was taught to me somewhere in high school as a weapon to "never leave the house at night b/c people like Gilles De Reis would be out and about." He killed many, anywhere between 150 and 800. It was a stupid tool for my teacher to use on us, but his legend struck me pretty hard.**

**Seeing him in Fate/Zero really startled me; I would have never pegged him to be a "Heroic Spirit," but I guess that's the point of this whole Holy War. You never know the full story, and you never know what kind of terror you can bring back to walk the earth… besides, Heroic Spirit? That's just a title given to landmark figures in history.**

**The theory here is that, since the protagonist used Rho Aias when she recited the original spell, she tied herself to Archer in a mock manner a Master/Servant bond would be established. At the same time she was tied to the Grail's corruption, something brought about by Caster. If point B is between A and C, Caster is A, Hashimoto is B, and Archer is C. Thus I'd imagine Caster would have some prior knowledge about Archer.**

**.**

_**!I ACTUALLY NEED YOUR HELP THOUGH!**_

_Who do you think is the strongest of the Rider class? Let me know your opinion, and the one with the most votes will be featured in a later chapter!_


	29. Revelations

_So this plan of ours-?  
It's a mess, but it should work._

Three shadow'y faces turn towards me as the world shrinks in my vision_. _

_That is, granted, as long as the misses pulls the final trick off._

* * *

In an instant, Archer pulls out an unprovoked sword. It is blazingly white. I don't see nor hear him tear my back in half.

I can hear Lancer shout in fury at Archer over the pounding of blood in my ears. He catches me before I fall face-first into the earth, dropping his legendary lances, holding me gently but forcefully. I catch a glimpse of Berserker howling at Archer, who remains unchanged.

_Deus et natua non faciunt frusta! Why must you hasten me?_

_We'd best get this show on the road, those fools are on our trail._

Berserker is then beside me, breathing hastily in my face.

_I apologize ma'am, some of us lack proper etiquette._

I would have responded, but I choke on a mouthful of blood.

**This is part of the plan**, I try to convince myself, shaking fists holding myself up.

**This is supposed to happen,** I try to whisper as I scramble in panic, falling lower and lower to the ground.

* * *

_This wont work._

_Its not like we can turn back now._

Berserker wipes my mouth clean before I can sputter out more …red stuff…

Wait, is that all mine? Is that all… _my_ _blood_?!

He forces something down my throat, wedging his hand deep in my mouth. I sputter and gag as Lancer forces me up into a sitting position.

_And this will work?  
It is as you said previously, my friend. _

My blurry vision fades quickly like a rock disappearing in an infinite sea. I reach up for Lancer's face, the man that cradles me to his chest. His eyes are beautiful, but filled with despair as he watches my body contract in agony.

_We can do naught but trek forward._

* * *

I open my eyes one last time and see myself standing behind Lancer. I step closer to myself, caressing my check in my own hand. I faintly feel someone pooling blood from my back, and I see myself splashing it on… itself…myself.

_What is happening._

_Who is that?_

* * *

_So this plan of ours…._

_It's a mess, but it should work._

_There's no way Caster would willingly let the girl near him._

I'm not a girl anymore, Archer.

_We will disguise thyself as _my_self. _The petite doctor's silhouette lights up my mind.

_And I will mock myself as thyself. _

* * *

Lancer stands, ragged and widelegged, as the knight veers closer once more.

The shadow stands, straddling the frail body, one dainty foot pressed firmly into the body's lifeless face.

The small body grimaces altogether; it convulses underfoot.

A frail arm rises up to grab the woman by the ankle.

* * *

_Archer will take me, mocked as you, misses. _

_And Lancer will bring you closer to Caster. This is similar to my Dangerous Game in that it will reshape you. Alas, you must remain diligent, for it will not enhance you._

* * *

Archer frowns as he notices movement out of the corner of his eye. The heaped body stirs, reawaken by the bloodlust in the air.

"Took you long enough." He smiles, a smile fit only for an asshole. "It looks like the beauty rest didn't do much good for you."

"Shuttap, you ass."

* * *

_No, I will take the girl_

I'm not a girl, Archer. Not anymore, at least.

_But you don't object to it?_

How could I? You're supposed to be protecting me.

_Then it's decided. _

_Mea anima est cum te. Nostra animae sunt cum vobis. Fair ye' well, my dear._

_Do not be afraid, Kazumi Hashimoto. We will not fall on this day._

* * *

He strikes me down, here and there.

He struck me down, hasty and agitated by the warning presence of outsiders looming just out of his imperial sight.

He made the others jump, don't get me wrong.

And he was the reason I lost a few pints of blood.

_Thank you, Berserker_. I stand up and roll my shoulder. Silky blonde hair falls back to long, tangled black. My clothes falls back to its natural, chaotic state. The wound on my back slowly begins stitching itself back together

"You didn't even fucking hesitate, you monster."

Twin blades appear in Archer's waiting palms; its as he has done a million times before, a practiced dancer readying for a serenade with Death.

"How could I? I'm your protector," his foxy grin lights me up, his eyes on the daunting, still figure before us. "I had to play my part."

"You're still a monster."

"So you have said, _girl_."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Shazam. I got a few of you off guard :P. Hopefully this makes sense – if not, I suggest you read through it a few times so it will sink in.**


	30. Off-shot: Running without Legs

I have a little story to tell you.

A few years back, I freaked out from a minor accident – some kids were laughing at me on the playground, and I curled up on the ground, hands over my ears, beginning to not be able to hear them.

I wanted to shut them out. I was a girl, and a girl couldn't play with the boys. I wasn't allowed on the structure, I was nothing but an illness.

And I _did_. Within a heartbeat I was completely deaf.

And when I came to that realization, at first I was super surprised.

Then I panicked.

Then I screamed.

Then I _really_ lost my shit.

I was about six when that happened. After about an hour of running around the neighborhood and tripping on my tears, my hearing came back to me and I keeled over from mana exhaustion. For a few years after that I couldn't tell you how I avoided using magic, but I tiptoed around the things I told myself I wanted.

"I want you to shut up" was a big one. I was so worried I'd somehow remove people's lips from their faces or something stupid like that.

In middle school, I picked up track and field. I wasn't much good at it, but it was a chance to stay out of the house after school, and there were a lot of opportunities to make friends; since I didn't really stand out on my school's team of sixty-three students, no one really approached me and I never approached anyone else. That was sixth grade, and I was devastated.

Then one time, in the straggler's heat (the losers from every team were assigned to the same heat), I was racing away in third place. The sun was unbearable, and I was furious with myself.

God dammit, I wanted second place so badly! First place would have taken a miracle, but second place, at least give me that! I wanted to top those kids off as if my life depended on it. My lungs were scraping so dry of oxygen, I remember midway through the 400x meter:

"Oh god, I wish I couldn't feel the burn"

and I took a deep breathe,

and I couldn't feel it.

I couldn't feel anything.

I pounded my feet so hard in that last 200 that they bled on the insides of my shoes. My form was absolute trash, and I'm pretty sure I was zigzagging all over the track: but lo and behold, I crossed the finish line in first.

That was the first time I ever singlehandedly won something, and I was so excited until I passed out from draining myself.

When I was pulled back into my miserable little reality by concerned teachers and huddling teammates, I felt like the center of the universe.

It was then and there I decided to really practice my unnamed skills. I tried every day, sometimes with success, sometimes will utter failure. I never really knew what it was I was doing, but I learned to stretch myself in several ways: for example, when Mom started cooking dinner downstairs and I could hear it, I'd try to smell it. Or, when Hiro was talking on the phone to a girl in the middle of the night (he did that surprisingly often for a kid who's never had a legit girlfriend), I could stretch myself through the walls dividing our rooms.

Then I got really good. I could hear Takao writing furiously at his desk, Dad flipping the papers, and Mom humming down the street. I could smell dinner, drugs on the kid next to me, and alfalfa on the equestrian girl in the back of the classroom. I could see the individual eyes on a dead fly and count every freckle on the Scottish kid's face when he gave a presentation.

You get the idea. But I really capitalized in middle school on nullifying my sense of feeling – at first I tried to feel a lot more intensely than usual, but that was nothing more than a painful drag; but if I tried to_ not feel at all_, I could run faster, jump higher, and heave as many push-ups as my concentration could allow.

But once I was on the all-star relay team in eighth grade, my new skills didn't help my popularity as much as I hoped it would. At the end of the day, I was a sour bitch who only spoke in sarcastic tones, and it's hard to get along with people when they want nothing to do with you.

I was the MVP of the track team that year, but no one clapped for me when I took my award.

When I brought it home, I threw it away. I took to testing my nullification skills through cutting myself, which became a regular habit until Takao took notice.

He made me stop.

And that's that.

This is how I became a self-taught, crappy mage.

.

.

.

I wonder if I should tell Archer. I feel like he might regard me a little more kindly, if he knew the complete extent of what I could do; hell, he might even respect me a little.

Ah, who am I kidding. I don't even respect myself.

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I figured our heroine could use a little bit of a background, so here's her self-discovery.

Expect another update awful soon


	31. Rupture

A silent heartbeat passes over the meadow. As Lancer braces for the sword's impact, the nightmare comes to a slow conclusion. She catches her breath as her eyes widen in panic.

This is no girl.

The frail arm that grips her so fiercely trembles, and ruptures.

No; more properly, it explodes. The skin holding the body together unhinges and explodes, sending small pieces in every which direction.

The frail arm is no more; now, it is a long arm, a long, powerful arm, ripe with muscles that grip it in unnatural places. Long, dazzling claws rake at her precious skin. It has taken no longer than a heartbeat, but it last an eternal lifetime of fear.

The nightmare of a woman tries to lunge free of the monster's grasp, only to sink inhuman claws deeper into her flesh.

She looks at the face under her foot, and a face it is no more – in the place of a bloodied little girl is a monstrosity nearly three, no, four times its original size. _And it is still growing._

At first, she is entranced by those golden eyes. They gleam, reflecting light that does not exist in this dark world. It is a light from generations ago, a light brought to a candlewick in a dark London basement to illuminate a corpse. It is a light that should never have been relit, and yet…

And yet, here it is, violently glowing underfoot.

The nasty lips curl into a wicked smile.

_Damnatio ad bestias._

Before the world can recognize the monster unleashed upon it, it has thrown the woman by the leg into the knight hurling up the gentle meadow's slope.

Despite his fatigue, Lancer smiles. It has been no longer than an instant, but he was well-aware of the beast slowly rising to stand beside him.

_Yes, indeed. Checkmate. _

Berserker continues to grow, toppling the others by nearly twice any of their given sizes. Shear-black fur grows long and coarse as the wolf-like beast rises on its hindlimbs. The unbelievably powerful arms rise and fall as the beast heaves with each breath, finally freed of its mortal confines. Lancer takes the opportunity to swish his hair back and stab the earth with the end of his Gae Dearg. Saber stands nearly fifteen feet away, back arched in rage as Assassin rises beside the ironclad warrior.

"What will it be, fellow Heroic Spirits?" Lancer fishes for his most dashing smile as he points Gae Buidhe squarely at Saber. "Shall we duel honorably as chivalrous soldiers do?" He kicks up his chin a little as Berserker hunkers lower, lips drawn back in a warning snarl. Lancer's eyes narrow. "Or should we do this out as barbarians cast out of the Holy cup?"

The opposing force pauses as Assassin straightens up. In the faintly-lit landscape, Lancer must squint to read Assassin's expression; it is one of pure wrath.

The woman sinks into the shadows of the earth. The knight charges uphill once more.

He reacted faster than I could blink – not unusual, from what I've learned in the last 24 hours, but still uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable, but securing. I feel safe, knowing he's here. I feel like no matter what happens, he'll protect me. He'll keep me safe, and he'll help me solve all of this.

He can do it, that's not questionable. What is, however, is what _I_ can and cannot do.

_I can't do this._

His swords slice the air, dicing molecules drifting peacefully through. Slime-coated tentacles lash out from the earth beneath us.

Before I could even panic about it, they were sliced up and wiggling lifelessly along my shoes.

_I can't do this._

Caster shouts, but my ears don't register his words. New tentacles emerge from the shadowy depths of hell – which is, in truth, the space around each and every one of us – dragging themselves into the physical realm. They curl and gag, choking on the purity of their slayer as he brings them to bits.

_I can't do this._

And before I can register it, one easily larger than me stretches forward to coil around my neck. It reaches to its fullest extent, filling every inch of my vision before it pounces on my destruction.

_Aw, what the fucking hell_. I take a deep breath, honing my senses, nullifying them. _I'm done standing around._ It twists uncontrollably at the last second – Archer has sliced it clean in half – and I take this as an opportunity.

I run.

First left, then right, then I hold while I force myself to take in a sharp, whistling breath. _nullify… don't take in a deep breath, or I'll flood my system_.

_Slow breathing, slow breathing_…

I dodge another then another, weaving my way closer to my target.

Thus far I've only made it past a few; Archer is the one I should be thanking (I never will, not to his face) since he's been slicing and dicing every other damn one that reaches for me.

But it's working. I'm getting closer to Caster – its working!

And its within a heartbeat that something latches itself to my leg, forcing me into the ground with a solid, slippery tug. I can hear Archer above the chaos, but I don't know where he is. I don't know what he says.

All I know is I'm being lifted by the neck above the earth.

Saber lashes out, legendary sword swinging. Berserker charges forward on all fours, colliding full-force into the knight. Massive, clawed hands grip the blade, paws curling over with the intent of crushing the soldier's hands. The beast looms over the knight and opens its mouth to unleash the most blood-curling roar the world can bear, strings of saliva rolling off his teeth and onto the warrior's helm.

But the knight is no fool. As Lancer snakes up from behind, they dodge swiftly to the side with a swing at the man's head. Saber failed, however, to notice the secondary weapon in Berserker's recently-freed paw, a ruby weapon of historic power.

The knight dodges that, just barely getting around the dagger at the tip of the staff. Lancer catches his weapon midair and lands squarely, his back turned towards the knight as he watches the swaying shadows of the earth. Berserker rises, a menacing hunk of desperation, lips drawn back once more, tail swishing as he eyes the knight.

"I will take Saber." Lancer glances up at his partner, now nearly three times larger than himself. Orange eyes meet thirsty golden, and the beast staggers forward.

_They will likely try to __separate us_. _Divide et impera_.

_They also have the advantage of fighting together before now. We do not have that. _

_However,_

Ravens appear out of the thickets of the unseeing darkness. Lancer charges them, impaling several in one swing, acting on nothing but intuition.

_We are forces to be reckoned with, ourselves_.


	32. Death

I have…. I…

I have never… I have never been so….

_I have never been so afraid to breathe_.

My body screams against my will. _I _need_ air_!

But I am _so afraid_ to _breathe_!

I am frozen against the iron grip of my suppressor. It curls around my neck like a child to a plaything – awkward, slipping, not completely in control against my squirming body – so it tightens itself around my neck.

Tighter, tighter.

I kick and claw, short nails raking against the slimy surface of the tentacle.

I… I… I _need_ to _breathe_! I force my mouth open, trying to inhale as deeply as possible, but the instant I do the tentacle tightens its death-grip on me.

Oh my god

Oh my god

_Oh my god_

This was… this _wasn't_ _our_ _plan_.

We were gonna _win_…

I… I was gonna _live_, we… _we were gonna_ _win_.

My essence howls, I can physically feel my strength being sucked dry.

My eyes, my pleading eyes, my desperate eyes, fall on Archer. He is a million miles away and yet close enough I can hear his steady heartbeat. He draws in air like a beast of burden, his body rising and collapsing with each intake. Finally, his eyes fall on me, and his face collapses.

"Oh my crimson warrior! Must you carry on with this _ordddddeal_ of yours? Accept the Holy Grail as your savior, accept me as your leader, and peace will fall upon this accursed land!" Caster wails as he prances forward, a spring in his step like a child on a playground. "This world will become my garden, so blessed by God himself! My garden, where my creatures will blossom beside my love for my lovely Jeanne!" He marches right over to Archer, who tries to stand up but collapses on his knees. Only now do I notice the violent gash on his left leg, but I can't do a damn thing to help him.

I want to command Caster _to leave Archer alone_, but my body still roars for oxygen. I can't keep my legs kicking, and my sense of feeling in my hands ebbs away.

_Oh my god, I'm going to die._

Archer stares up at Caster, rage in his sharp eyes. Finally, he looks down, a smile on his lips as he huffs a slight laugh. Caster cocks his head to the side, his budging eyes trying to focus on the warrior collapsed before him. "Do you not honor my goal, my divinnnnne wish? I am-!"

"If you truly knew women," Archer growls, "Then you'd know no woman in heaven or hell is worth all this effort."

Despite my _oh-my-freaking-god-I'm-going-to-die-of-suffocation_ situation, I frown at him.

Bullshit, Archer: you're really gonna sass him _now_, of all the times you could have chosen to be a total ass? God, it'd be great if I could punch him right now, that sexist pig.

My arms fall loosely to my side as my cells scream in desperation. My skin crawls with explosive fire, icey hot like a white knife tickling me into submission. _The pain beating away in my head is going to make my head explode_. I can feel my eyes rolling up…

_Oh my god. _

Please.

Please, someone….

Please someone, help him. Help _me_. Please, someone….

Any….anyone…

_Help us_.

.

.

.

.

.

I'm not a religious girl; I never was and probably never will be, given that magic's a real dick and has probably been manipulating history throughout all of mankind's time on the rock in space, but whatever. I've never dipped my head to a divine power – probably never will.

But for a split second, the blinding light was strong enough to make me believe.

I could see someone just out of reach, someone who, if I stretched far enough into the desert's oasis of light in this darkest of days, I could pull them close to me once more. I can see his nerdy silhouette - lanky body, glasses and all – even now. I must have forgotten what he looked like, because at first all I could do was stare. Then my face stretched in realization, and I leaned down into the light. I leaned down, yet I stretched up.

On the tips of my toes, the tip of my reality, I stretch to pull him back with me.

It is nothing more than a shadow, a ghostly figure of a kid who was going to save the world. I can't see his face. I forgot what it looked like.

But I'm sure he smiled, right then and there. I'm sure that was a smile I saw.

I must have been screaming, as I was forced to take in an awful sharp gasp of air. I try to scream again, my brother just out of my hand's reach.

But he smiled, I'm sure of it. He smiled and walked away, a shadow falling into the light of yesterday, tomorrow, and the present.

.

* * *

.

I'm forced to inhale crisp air, blistering knives that pierce my lungs. My eyes fly open, and the light is, again, painfully luminescent. A handsome outline lingers above me. It could be an angel. It could be Takao.

No, wait. Takao smiles, and angels are supposed to be… pleasant company, right? I squint stupidly against the light as my eyes adjust to my new surroundings.

"You fool," Archer hisses, "stay down!"

"Why the hell-" I cough violently, my body heaving as oxygen floods me. "Wh-why would I do tha-"

"Don't question it!" He growls, pushing my head gently against the ground. All at once my sensations come back to me, and I quickly realize that Archer has me straddled against the ground, his body bleeding on top of mine as he protects me from flying tentacle debris. His sharp eyes watch intently as the light bounces around us, gleaming and glistening in all of its glory. I roll over so I'm not looking at him, chin in the dirt, and as I steady my breathing, I momentarily have my breath taken away.

A man clad in gold sweeps the darkness, dark hair tussling in the calamity, deep eyes cool, ancient smile radiant.

Caster bellows in the darkness somewhere in front of me, the masses of madness coiling with his words. "What _heaven_ would call forth a poooooor soul such as this?! What _beast_ would darrrrre trample over my Eden of joy, my place of birth for my precious Jeanne d'Arc?

His beautiful eyes meet mine, and his smile stretches wider across his face. "Nice of you to rejoin us, commoner-girl!" He shouts over the screeching of tentacles in angst. He swings his staff (which I now see is surprisingly sharp) and cuts another wiggling demon in half.

But something lashes out from behind, and Rider is forced to refocus on the problem at hand. "Now if you would, _ahmar racham_-"

Archer looks down at me from his paternal state. "Stay down and breath slowly as best you can" He commands as he heaves himself up. The gash on his left leg still bleeds heavily, and his first step is somewhat unsteady; however, he regains his composure and calls forward two familiar swords. Ramses destroys a beast and lands sideways beside Archer, his natural aura still lighting up the vile darkness. I try to follow his instructions, but I pause as I absorb the men before me.

One, a king, an emperor of a kingdom the world has forgotten: the other, an unnamed guardian time has forgotten. The stand beside each other as equals, clothe and silk blowing behind them, their royal capes of a reality no one could have pieced together. Red and white, the eagle-owl of the pyramids and the silent wolf on the mountainside.

I can't tell you what they stand for, or if they've ever stood beside each other in decades past. I can't tell you that they're perfect or that they care about humanity in general, but here they stand.

Something is shared between them, a parting comment, perhaps. Archer beckons back to me, and Rider smiles down at me. "Sorry I'm late, commonergirl, but I had to reawaken a dear friend of mine."

"Yeah right," I half-shout back over the furious wind and baying monsters. "Whatever your excuse is, I'm glad you're here!" The Radiant son of Ra smiles and dashes once more into action, Archer instantly off as well; but this time? This time I can see their every movements, their every rib rising and falling as they fight for the continued right to breathe.

What am I doing? I shudder, suddenly cold, as I try to stand up. I fall forward, scraping up my face and palms in the process, just to rise again.

I have no right to be lying around. Not after everything that's happened. Not after what's happening right now.

As I heave upward again, my sixth-sense goes haywire. I glance up, a million years to slow to react to the slimy tentacle that curls around my waist.

Oh God, not again!

But that ancient, radiant face sweeps my view as I'm taken off my feet. Did that thing catch me? Or did he beat it to me? Doesn't matter now – I'm off again in the arms of a beautiful, dark-skinned man. This air is too cold, his body too warm.

I want him to hold me forever.

Wait.

No I don't.

I push against his chest as his feet touch the land – I don't know where we are or how long we were flying for – but it's not a cold, mushy earth beneath my feet: it's a metallic spaceship, an airborne craft fit only for royalty. My hands fly out at my sides as my legs spread a little bit as Archer's does a million times over so I can keep my balance. The air is still too cold up here.

And he stands behind me, his chest against my back. My head makes contact with the pendant around his neck, and I can feel his eagle-like eyes watching me like little knives. The air is too cold up here, and he is too warm. I shake despite my confident stature, still wildly deprived of oxygen.

"What is this?"

"My extension, a gift from my father. Sit."

I want to sit down, I want to lay down and kick back and catch up on my sleep. I want to go home and cry and scream and fight someone.

But it's not what I want. It's what I should do.

Rider seems to read my mind. A chair rises from the metallic surface of his golden flying device, and he seats me in it. "You have no obligations here, commonergirl. We will continue on to somewhere where you will be safe."

"Like hell," I mumble, clenching my fists in dire frustration. God, I could leave this all behind! I'd be safe!

I…. I don't….

_I don't want to die. _

"Excuse me?" He accusational and wry, tempting me to banter with him.

But I'm not here to banter.

"I'm here to help. I don't need to run away somewhere safe!" I stand up and almost fall over, amazed by the speed to which we fly through the air. My loose black hair flies in my face as I turn around to face the Egyptian king. His beautiful eyes soften as he clenches his jaw. "You haven't the strength to fight."

"Hell yes I do!" I grip the golden sidebars of his ancient treasure fiercely. He stands quietly, flaxen linens whipping in the wind behind him as the air courses through his rich dark hair. He won't speak – probably because a fool like me has no business with a king… but still.

"Wait." He continues to watch me silently as I fight to find my words through continued sharp inhales. "Why… why did you come?"  
His eyes dance in the darkness as we shoot past trees and buildings. The ship slows down slightly as he turns on his heel to sit in the thrown at the base of the airship.

"You mentioned that I was anchored here, common girl." He reasons, his back to me as he walks away. "I sought out what it was tying me to this era."

He is silent again as he stands just in front of his thrown. I didn't notice it before, but his staff sits beside it, held up by invisible hands. I comb some hair back behind my ear.

"What was-?"

"They interfered with my beloved's tomb," he shouts above the sound of whistling air. "_That_ _is_ _unforgiveable_."

He sits down, spinning so he once again faces me. He leans slightly sideways, propping up a fist to hold up his head as he folds a leg over the other. We watch each other in silence, and I'm reminded of how hard it is to breathe after being resurrected.

But I grip the chair and tighten my jaw.

"I appreciate you helping me. I really, really do, as in, like… like there are no words for it." I stand up straight (it takes a moment and a wobbly step) and bow to him deeper than I have ever bowed before. I hold myself at a rigid ninety degrees, fists tight by my sides. "But I need to go back there. I cannot live in a constant state of fear. Please, I'm begging you-" I shut my eyes violently, praying that my voice keeps from shaking. "Please take me back."

The airship slowly comes to a halt. As the wind stops tearing at my ears, I'm finally aware of the sound of explosions in the distance – its somewhere in the direction of where I'm bowing. It's in front of me.

.

.

.

* * *

**Oh lawd, finding translations is hard. "Ahmar" is Arabic for "red" while "Racham" is the biblical term for the Egyptian Vulture in Hebrew; it can also translate into "compassionate" or "have mercy" in the traditional sense in the Bible. Fitting, to say the very least.**

**Happy New Year**


	33. Stick in a Gunfight

**I FORGOT TO POST THIS CHAPTER**  
**IM SO SORRY**

* * *

If chivalry continued through time to the battlefield where the sword and lance collide, perhaps the modern onlooker would hold a more revered respect for the battle.

How is a… a stick-wielding man holding his own against a sword? One of immense skill, undoubtedly; one of pretentious mind, more likely.

Between blows, the Lancer is forced to spin on his heels to combat the onslaught of treacherous witchcraft. The hound chases the shadows but is incapable of pinning down the nightmare, building his rage with every slam of the tremendous paw against the earth.

The lancer is not unfamiliar with unjust battle tactics; in truth, there are no rules in battle – only codes of conduct. He holds his head high as the man he once was and wields that pride in his every movement.

Every muscle contraction. Every turn of the heart. Every wayward glance of the eye. The essence of this man fighting tooth and nail is that of not arrogance, but retrospect. Not a heart full of rage, but one full of respect for a girl forced into a world far removed from her own. A brave, mouthy, innocent girl unaware of the glorious truth of possibility.

So he fights, an unsung, forgotten hero on a quiet hill on a bloodthirsty morning. The song reverberating from the collision of lance and sword is enough to stir even the most [removed] human's primitive desire for justice. Those without respect for the unnamed lance in the hand of the time-lost warrior would catch their breath. Where in modern education does the textbook connote the valor of the spear? Would a lost child recognize the brilliance of bringing a stick to this gunfight, as the world spirals out of control?

It matters not, fur just as experienced as the silent knight is, the lancer is chivalrous.

The two spring back from their last exchange. Neither can break the other's defense.

"You wield that steel brilliantly, but I cannot continue this charade in this ridiculous manner. Saber before me, I beseech you." The man exte3nds a hand to the ironclad soldier. "I am Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, a knight of Ireland. There is no need for us to continue in such a beastly manner. If you yourself are a knight, then it is your civil duty to name yourself as well."

A fast-rolling fog separates the two as it drifts across the earth. In the silence, the two watch each other as their comrades collide.

The prong-horned knight moves first, catching Ireland's Light slightly off-guard. The sword ushers itself down, a cross-hack at its foe. It leaves an opponent vulnerable on the underside, but magically-reinforced armor kills any hesitation on the silent knight's heart. However, the second stick brought to this gunfight on this miserable eve of the earth's destruction matches it, speed for speed.

Both knights are fast, far faster than the mortal eye can ever begin to comprehend. But neither is fast enough to completely evade the other. At the cost of the Lancer's right shoulder comes a blow through the Saber's abdomen.

In an instant – no, in the very bearings of an instant – the tides have turned.

Between Berserker and Assassin – a horrible match-up of raw power and never-ending whit – the battle is postponed as the two register their comrade's conditions. Berserker's wolf-like body, hunched and ready to strike, slowly stands, sways his ears, releases his grimace, and looks over his shoulder at the bleeding man. Assassin does not pause, for only she and she alone up until now was aware of Saber's true strengths. She releases an armada of cursed ravens at the beast, who returns by hacking each and every damned bird to shreds. Despite his seemingly immeasurable strength, this sinful war finally finds weakness in the beast's knees; for every curse to be destroyed, a mere drab of its strength is ingested on contact. A mortal man would have collapsed long ago, but Mr. Hyde is no mere man. For the first time, Berserker must pause to draw breath.

Lancer, in his bleeding state, takes note of this with a weary glance of his orange eyes. But there is no time to waste – Saber holds a hand around the staff embedded in their chest, useable eyes bleeding with fury.

It made sense to pair up the strongest with the mage – as crafty as Lancer is, he is no match for a mana-filled shadow killer, not in his already depleted state. Once a man capable of holding back thousands in his prime and proudly going toe-to-toe against England's King of Knights, Diarmuid Ua Dibhne is no fool; he can hold off Saber until Berserker has dealt with Assassin.

But not with a senseless shoulder, not any more.

The worst type of pain is one you cannot feel but can clearly see – with his arm hanging uselessly at his side, all Lancer can do is grind his teeth. It's frustrating, to say the very least, but his is a duel-wielder. The major concern is his vulnerability. Now, everyone has their cards on the table. Every last asset has been exhausted; it is only a matter of time before neither have the physical strength to stand anymore. Lancer eyes Saber once more as he hears the knight yank (X) from its body. With a shudder of the knight's shoulders, the armor is disregarded, for it is no longer of value if the man can pierce it.

Diarmuid catches his breath.

"Arturia? King…. King of Knights?"

Those eyes that bled with fury now erupt in violent rage. Lose-fitting red silks sway and catch the wind, lifting in her The young woman curls her fingers around the hilt of her weapon and charges, fueled and blinded by bloodlust.

"Do not _dare_ utter that name!"

The woman hacks again and again, ruthless to the bitter end as she fights to decapitate the man infront of her. Lancer, now crippled with only one arm to use, is forced into the defense, staggering back with each strike Saber takes.

"Who are you?" He sputters, eyes narrowed with an easy sidestep. Red flanks the girl's body, for, in truth, she appears to be more a girl than a woman. "What history do you have with the King of Knights?"

The girl swings again, nearly cutting off his head alongside his trail of thought. But the knight of Ireland is persistant, espiaclly when the matter involves someone as honorable as England's greatest king.

No, now is not the time to ask. Her sword comes dangerously close to his face, taking off some hair as she hacks away.

But the thoughts involved in this fight becomes too much; in his hesitation, Lancer catches a stone on the Earth and trips backwards.

He lands violently, useless arm beating around as he falls, sending sparks of infuriating pain throughout his body. He turns to face the girl who now stands over him, her blue eyes violently hungry for blood. His own eyes narrow as he lays, propped up by his one good arm, his tools of the trade all but expelled before him.

His cards are on the table, face up, options burning under the wrath of the girl's hellbent fury.

Rider heaves a sigh, and I take that as a chance to look up at him.

He's smiling.

"You remind me of her, commonergirl. Perhaps it would do my beloved justice to aid you in your quest. Besides-" he turns his chin to face the right, and the airship turns obediently back in the direction of where we came from. "He insists on women as posessions. Slaves are possessions, not loved ones." His cool eyes sparkle as he reflects silently. "We are in the possession of those we love, not the other way around. Besides, no slave is worth tearing the world apart, no matter the atrocities of the era."

I bow again as he looks at me, releasing the breath I didn't realize I was holding. When I look up again, he is gripping his cane ferociously.

"Now then, commonergirl-" spawning from the cane comes veins across the airship, glowing brighter than the sun itself.

"-Shall we begin?"

She takes her time, each step she takes closer to me deliberate and eliquite, like a lioness with harrowed eyes.

Her armor all but gone, her hair is tied up in a furious ponytail, snarls of uncombed yet beautiful, blond hair falling from her face. A red colar wraps her neck, a thin band of matching color collecting and pressing her fair breasts high into her chest. Red silks flank her side in a manner unlike Archer's, but her ruby heels were ultimately the most prominent of her figure.

She presses one into the throat of this noble man, throwing him back down against the earth. "You dared ask who I am?" Her eyes spark, catching fire in agonistic rage. "I am the son the false king never cared to look down upon." And she smiles, lips curling up like a hound after taking down an eagle. "And I am the son who _killed_ the false king." Her gashing wound bleeds like a waterfall, yet her strength remains unimpaired and unparalleled.

Lancer stiffens underfoot, cringing as he weighed his options; in truth, the plan was to occupy Assassin and Saber until Archer and the girl carried out their part of the plan. Given the disadvantages of being so prana-deprived, Lancer and Berserker only had so much they could do.

But the earth trembles beneath him.

Slowly

Slowly….

But surly.

Lancer smiles from his place in the mud. The girl catches sight of this and picks up her foot, just to slam it against his flawless face. Her eyebrows furrow once more as she regrips her demonic sword. "Have you anything to say for yourself, filthy dog?"

Lancer laughs, coughing out blood. He places his good palm against the earth –

\- Yes, there it is again! -

\- and applies all of his strength to try and heave himself up.

The girl is silent at first.

"Be still, dog."

Yet he heaves against her, arm shaking, legs curling under him.

"_Be_ _still_, I said."

The earth trembles again, louder, longer.

"_No_." Lancer pivots, throwing all of his weight to the side, dislodging the foot pressed against his cheek: not enough to completely unbalance the girl, but enough for an opportunity.

"I swore my alegence, and I plan to carry out my duty to my greatest extent." He slaps his palm against the girl's leg and throws her to the ground as he spins to his feet. He is swift, this man in emeraldclad armor. His eyes dance as the opportunity presents itself.

There is another tremble of the earth, but more like an approaching earthquake.

I need time.

Diarmuid spins his head around, looking desperately for Berserker. The monstronsity is bleeding violently from a shoulder wound, but his tail flicks with his ears as another tremble shakes the earth.

The dark beast turns, eyeing the light of Ireland wearily.


	34. Monsters

The flight back was a startlingly quiet one: Rider sat in silence the entire time, arousing power from some unnamed force within his airship. The wind whistled and whipped my ears numb, but with my fingers curled around the edge, I knew without a doubt that I was doing the right thing.

I might die doing this "right thing," but what the hell. You only live once, right? And there were people out there who were born with magic in their blood, people who were slaughtered for unjustified reasons.

I think now that the best way to live life is to live it for others. To redeem and to reaffirm justice.

God, I wish I could talk to my past self. Like, even my "self" a week ago. I might have been able to make some real changes for myself, you know? That quiz last week I bombed? Those college pamphlets I tossed out without a second glance?

I used to be looking for a reason to live, a final, desperate attempt to climb back from the ledge.

Now that I have a reason to die, _I have never felt so alive_.

Rhio Aias purrs within my coat pocket as I grip it tightly.

_This._

_This is my chance._

_This is my chance to finally live my life._

But as we near where we were before, I slowly come to notice the branches that aren't branches lodged into tree trunks. Tree after tree, green blur after green blur, I notice more and more arrows piercing the bark. Hundreds, maybe even thousands.

A hand on my back tells me Rider is at my side. I don't flinch, not like I would have a week ago, and turn my eyes towards him. Veins of gold protrude from his beautiful face, his eyes narrowed as he watches the land beside me. His fine face is ridged, his hand clutches his staff at his side.

This.

This is a man of war.

This is a king summoning his troops.

God, I'm so turned on right now.

* * *

The rumbling was not that of an upset stomach, nor was it that of a trembling mother nature. In fact, the cause for the commotion was not natural in any way, shape, or form.

No, the cause was the atrocity that catapults itself across the land. It comes from four powerful paws that stride across deserts, mountains, and ultimately an ocean, landing firmly onshore of an island east of the majority of the modernized world.

And as Lancer counts his final blessings, the sun overhead nothing more than a black ring of devastation, over the mountainside laps a child of God. He sees it beyond his assailant's rigid face, so it came as a brutal surprise to her when it collided into her back.

No. This thing came from its eternal resting place of Egypt, and throws itself into the woman standing above Lancer. For she was unaware of the pulsating world around her, her bloodlust beating through her eardrums.

Well, more so throws itself against her: size-wise, this… this _thing_ is nearly thirty times that of the girl. It is not soft as it once was – instead, it is glazed over in stone. Composed of spirits whose bodies inhabited it (slaves who fell on the job were subsequently used for insulation) and a still-beating heart, the Sphynx of Egypt is no more human than it is devastation. Golden from generations of sitting watch under the sun, the man-like face is twisted in an unfathomable way with fangs bared and gorged eyes bleeding red under the sunless sky. Powerful muscles ripple in the bleak darkness, stones sliding too and fro as it adjusts to its newfound freedom. It is here upon request of a long-silent master. It is a beast unlike its kin, for it is the most powerful of them all. And it does not hesitate.

Claws sheathed for hundreds of years lash out at the vile, as it acts on command of its master and intuition unparalleled. Magic courses through the stones and skeletons as it paws the ground, casting out a forbidden incantation preventing manipulation through dark magic; for with this intuition, it assess the world around it.

Assassin is subsequently forced from the earth. She lashes out two violent arms – one directed at the man-beast that guards history's most sacred tombs, the other at the man who played god with nature.

The cat cannot react fast enough to stop the assassin. With fingers made of darkness and the most refined of metals, this barbaric extension wraps around the cats hindleg and curls its fingers, cutting it clean off. Berserker, on the other hand, is a little less lucky, and as he charges desperately at his attacker, it pierces him through the heart.

* * *

Archer is like a cat in a couple of ways – for one, I could have sworn he'd at least look fatigued, based on the bleeding he's already been victim to. But he stands like a statue, unwavering in the frigid air, bow drawn back from his perch on the top of an ancient oak tree.

And for another, he must have nine lives. I can't tell what's red from the silks or red from his blood any more.

The aircraft hovers beside my scarlet savoir. I lean down beside him, my face almost next to his, as he pinpoints his next bombardment. Tentacles of incredible length curl up as they use the trees to climb into the heavens. He releases, a streak of red the only clue that this weapon was shot forward, as even my enhanced eyes could hardly register its movement.

He doesn't look at me. "What the hell are you doing here."

"I'm here to play my part, remember? I'm not done yet."  
"We're outmatched, even with his royal ass here." Archer turns around, bow dropping to his side as he glares without interest at his newest partner. The king rises, linens blowing in the stiff breeze, revealing more illuminated veins of golden glory.

"I am insulted, commoner. Especially since I am the one who saved your worthless skin."

"Please stop bitching to each other," I whine, rolling my eyes. "We have a common enemy, do we not?" I watch the Egyptian king, narrowing my eyes (not unlike Archer would and surly did). "What do you have up your sleeve?"  
"I carry no weapon other than my Crook, girl." The king steps closer to the edge, toes curling slightly over the edge. He raises his arms slowly, flawless face tight in concentration. "But I have yet to bestow upon this wretched land the vast glory of Ra!"  
And with that, the tree Archer stands on shakes violently. I reach out for him without thinking, and as he looks down the base of the oak, he reaches back to grab me by the shoulder to stabilize himself.

I don't think he meant to.

But it's not tentacles that climb his last resort; it's the earth peeling apart at the seams. Glowing magma seeps through the soil, illuminating various cracks across the earth's surface. I don't see it at first, but I reach slowly to grip Archer's forearm and squeeze in desperation when I do.

As the magma expands, molten talons, claws, fur, and scales line up where the cracks first eroded the crust. More finger-like appendages fit through the doorway from Satin's backyard, gleaming in variations of metal and blood. Then come the eyes: unseeing, all-seeing, eyes swollen with rage and desperation, every imaginable nightmare held in liquid sensory tools come to life.

The smaller beasts climb out first, scampering as if their tails (if, what some of them have, would actually be called tails) were singed by the devil himself. These…. Things, these uncharacterized monsters scamper on legs in numerous pairs, some spanning the entire underside of creatures. Some slither and crawl and slime their way across the forest floor, but no matter the variation, there is but one thing on their hive minds:  
_kill._

* * *

The sound.

The sensation.

The horror of recognizing blood as one's own.

The hand retracts, a wild grin on the girl's face. The Sphynx reacts faster than Berserker can, spinning around. It hobbles, slightly off-balance, but not so incapable of reaching out with its magnificent neck and eating the killer.

It devours her. Not in a single gulp. Not in a single swipe. But first clamping down on her from above, piercing her surprisingly powerful magic-based defense in the chest. She screams a blood-curling scream, a scream only paralleled to that of a maiden raped violently in a hopeless back alleyway. And the creature bears down, planting a malicious paw on her legs as it pins her to the earth she so desperately wanted to control. And it rears its head up, muffling her screams from within its throat, almost to the point that the tearing of her body in half was louder than her final curses. And the screaming stops. And from everyone's place on the ground, absolutely nothing could be done.

It is only now that Lancer can breathe again, unaware that he was holding his breath.

It is only now that Saber comes to terms with the unbalanced spilling of blood.

It is only now, a fraction of a second after the original wounding, that Berserker recognizes the agonizing pain that howls within him.

.

.

.

* * *

**We're actually beginning to close in on the ending here, folks. Questions, comments, complains, concerns all appreciated! I love hearing from my readers!**


	35. The Titles we Bear

The beasts that crawl from Satan's armpit take shape in so many ungodly forms that my stomach twists at their every elements. The stench that rises from the Earth boils over in my nose, searing my senses as I gag. I look at Ozymandias and notice the golden veins that pulse under his flawless skin.

Archer stabilizes himself and releases me, but I don't let go of him. He turns towards the king. "Is this your doing?"  
The king smiles radiantly. "Of course, nothing but the best comes from a son of Ra. You have a reality marble yourself, do you not?" The Egyptian puffs up his chest. "If not, we are not to speak again."

I turn to Archer cautiously. Does he have a storage of monsters hidden away too?

He turns back to face forward, the ground crawling with snarling and snapping, wiggling and crawling. I have never seen so much motion in on place, not at one time. No holiday occasion is anywhere on the level of horror at hand. "Yes, but my merging factor between reality and otherwise is-"

"Enough speaking. Show me."

"I'm mana depleted. I can't trigger something that massive, not now."

"You have a supply of mana right here," the King puts his foot against my back, almost toppling me over the edge of his starship. I grimace under his weight and sexist/derogatory (take your pick) notation, but don't argue. Between the two of them, they're monsters in their own right.

But Archer doesn't take not of the man's assertion. It takes me a moment to recognize what kind of implications he may be suggesting, and I again gag on the situation I'm in.

Yeah, they're monsters all right.

But that doesn't change the situation at hand. "Where's Caster?"

"He's on the shore still. He's completely some sort of incantation." I grip the edge of the spaceship. "Is there anything we can do to stop him still?"

"What do you think I'm doing, commonergirl?" Ozymandias hisses. The beasts latch themselves on the tentacles, the warring sides tearing each other to shreds. Beneath us lies a battlefield of terror and absolute destruction, and yet here we are perched, unharmed as the world falls apart at our feet. I look at the king. "Can you get me closer?"

"You ask a lot of me, commonergirl. I can only regulate so much at once, and even yet, you have yet to meet my greatest achievement yet?"

"Meet your greatest achievement?"

He smiles, veins bulging as he looks down at me. "Yes. We are sure to win the day once he returns to my side."

* * *

Saber doesn't hesitate; she can't afford to, not with how quickly the tides turned on her. Red silks swaying, she charges forward despite the searing pain that courses through her side; pain is but a message, a signal, and messages can be ignored. Only the most elite of soldiers can afford to think as such.

And she charges. She knows she cannot slay the beast, not on her own – not in her current state, at least – but she is well aware of the state of her enemies as well.

Berserker falls to his knees, long, black snout curled and hacking up blood as it floods his lungs. Lancer pelts over and swoops down beside his comrade, the sane yet most beastly of the Berserker class. He throws down the lance he can barely keep in his dangling hand, just to run his workable fingers over the coarse fur now soaked in rich, red blood. It sputters out from the beast, full-power like a waterfall as his wolf-like face cringes and curls in agony.

"Don't try to move, Berserker. Don't try to get up."

It's not like he could even if he wanted to, and yet he tries. It is not panic in his eyes nor terror in his throbbing heart; nay, it is the will to continue to fight. It is the drive for blood.

But he cannot, despite trying. And Lancer is impaled by Saber from the backside, a wound not unlike the one he gave her earlier.

Same, lower left-hand side of the torso. He cries out, mortal, legendary lungs screaming as the woman twists the hilt of her blade. She retracts it like a lioness does her claws and stands above the two men, sword slowly being raised above her head. Lancer turns over and onto his back to watch his final moments. Berserker can do nothing but growl from where he lays.

And as the blade illuminates the hopeless darkness, it is then that the heroic spirits remember their calling.

It is there that they remember the instant a hesitant girl entered the darkest corner of their minds, a girl shrouded in the darkness of an unknowing mind. She entered all of their minds in that critical instant, in an accident just a day beforehand, but it was enough for them all to recognize the truth behind their titles.

Heroic Spirits.

The two lunge at the woman, hesitation evaporated like a teardrop in a desert. It is at the same time they notice the three-legged beast behind this Saber of red, its horrible jaw of human flesh covered in stone coming down over the sword.

It takes the three of them to take her down in her most vulnerable moment.

* * *

Archer decided he would take me closer so Rider could be safely away from harm as he conducted his armada. He carries me on his forearm as he jumps from tree to tree, my arms wrapped around his neck. I enhance my eyes so I can see Caster better, and we're no farther than 100 meters away when Archer sets me down.

"Do you feel that?"  
"Feel what?"  
"The atmosphere," He looks up, vibrant eyes narrowed as he checks his surroundings again. "It is very heavy right now with prana. I fear he has accumulated what is needed."

"Then we don't have a moment to lose." I start jogging toward Caster, the vile beast of a man surrounded by grimy tentacles. I can hear Rider's beasts coming up behind me, and for the first time in a while, my heart is in my throat. Not like, you know, end-of-the-world fear or something stupid like that. No, it's more of a battle cry type of sensation. Countless feet pound the Earth behind me as Archer lays on a hailstorm of arrows in the direction of Caster, and I pick up the pace.

Is this it? Am I really about to die?

_No, not with the power behind me _I reason, breathing in sharply as I hone my senses. The roaring rises into one collective tidal wave, an infinite sea of desolation at my hells. _Not with what I am capable of doing._

The tentacles flay and curl in my vision, taking over everything within sight. The beasts that charged with me take to their prey, snarling and hissing and bleeding out all the same. And I can't spare the heartbeat to look. My ears that will not work take the sounds of Archer's barrage and morphs it into that of a quiet rainfall. I cannot see, I cannot hear, I cannot smell, and I cannot bear to die.

He turns around at the last moment, just as I am within three seconds of reaching him. That book cradled to his chest illuminate what is left of my poor, poor, disabled eyes, and I am forced to squint in order to continue forward. But it takes much less time for me to recognize the world-ending mess behind him that emerges from the water.

No!

Just

A

Little….

_Farther!_

But I am blown backward, colliding through beast after beast of Egyptian lore.

I was too late.


	36. Smoke and Mirrors

I hit the ground harder than anything I can put into words; I cough, and I can see faint blood droplets sputter from my lips and fall back on my face. I try to rise on my forearm, but I'm short of breathe and fall over, coughing and heaving up blood with every breath. My eardrums explode with sound as my senses reconnect at their natural state – if I don't die from the crash, it will probably be the sound.

But what little strength I have leaves me as I see what surrounds me. Balls of light drip energy, bleeding on the ground as they surround me. First from the light spawns mass, then comes matter. It is the beginning of a solar system, the beginning of a new body that orbits the most distant of astrological wonders. And yet it is born right here on Earth. Beyond the light, a heaping mess rises from the ocean.

And its right in front of me.

Not "it", really, but rather "they" – there are eight masses of light that bundle up, little stars that collect and fall like teardrops from the gods.

One, the first to take shape, is some sort of case for a sword. Another is a decaying, maggot-infested lion head.

Then there is a staff with a massive blade with what I can only assume is ancient inscriptions, and a knife darkened with rich, thick blood.

I see some sort of tattered book, pages torn and the binding in shreads. A rusty arrow coated over in red. One continues to drip with raw magical energy, the glow just as blinding as a bleeding sun.

And each object catches fire – red, teal, indigo, black, opal, and everything in between – and reshapes into a human being. Like clay in the hands of a god, with wind whipping so wildly I'm blinded as I shield myself.

_This has to be it._

This has to be the end of the world as I know it.

There has to be something I can still do, right?

I turn to Archer instinctively as he appears off to my left, and for the first time ever, I see raw emotion in his beautiful eyes. Is it fear? Is it excitement? All I can think of is a lost boy from a dream a million years ago, a little boy who was saved by super soldier. Those boy's eyes were wild with awe and terror, not something unlike my scarlet savior right now.

He is a little boy who found something long lost: a reason to live in fear.

_How do I react? If this is the end of it all, what do I do? _I keep my arm up to shield my eyes and focus on the body shaping closest to me. I try to stand, arm still raised at eye level.

And as the dust settles, several new bodies rise.

The owner of the lance stands first, dark, pupil-less eyes staring into the abyss. Tattered robes wrap him carelessly, his skin dark in the lightless day. I can't help but feel bothered by his lack of shoes, but he grips his staff aggressively, asserting himself as something more than a random homeless man. Something of a super-soldier in his own right.

I was under the weird impression he was staring at me with those dark eyes, but it was the gush of hot air that flushes against my back that makes me realize someone is behind me. With shivers racing down my spine, I turn slowly, my neck about as stiff as a giant tortoise's, to see a beast even larger hunkered down behind me. "His" face is almost as big as me – like, literally, almost as big as me altogether, and his vile eyes bulge from his wild skull. It straightens up to stare intently at the ancient homeless soldier, and within a heartbeat a rush of magic gags me as the two prepare to fight. I stand to prepare for my flight of survival.

And a woman appears beside me, a frail-looking, petite thing. Her skin is dark like Archer's and her hair glistens white – also like his – but at least Archer seems to have emotion. This girl waltzes beside me, between the thickets of this hostility, and raises an arm. Her long hair flows behind her carelessly, perfectly.

The men stand somewhat shocked by the girl's presence, and it takes me an instant to recognize the mess I'm in – no, she isn't here to protect me.

She's here to assert herself.

A sword falls from the heavens, radiant and prism-like as it shines with all the colors the naked eye can bear. It falls faster than any force could ever bear, almost is if it appeared in her hand randomly, as opposed to being thrown down hastily by the gods. I watch in slow motion, focusing everything on my eyes in hopes of absorbing everything that was about to happen.

But as the sword reaches her hand, I realize I can't afford to stand here. I can feel my pupils dilate as the truth seeps into my bones and I throw my hand deep into my pocket for my one true source of protection.

She could kill me.

She _will_ kill me.

And she won't think twice about it.

It sounded faintly like a horse was running at me, and I can only turn my eyes a little to the oncoming storm, as everything was happening all at once. I can't react fast enough to evade him, but a man sweeps me off my feet; in the blink of an eye, an explosion has erupted behind me, and I'm in the caring hands of a man I have never met.

I look up at him and release a shaky breath. This man sets me down on my feet without looking at me twice, his green brows furrowed as he assess the situation. Archer appears beside me just as blazingly fast, despite the ushing blood that still comes from his leg. The two men don't look at each other as Archer checks me once-over.

"Are you up to speed with the situation."

"Yes." The man's voice is surprisingly soothing for such a husky build; he's decked out in some armor too, suggesting a warrior class hero of some sort.

"I don't have time to decide if I can rely on you. I-"

"I will handle these fools. They seek only to express their limitless power." For the first time, the man with green hair looks down at me. He smiles: it isn't as fatherly as Lancer's or as charming as Rider's… rather, it's really calming. Empowering, maybe? He refocuses on Archer with an opened mouth before he's plowed over by some new force. I can't help it – I cry out in shock.

"Oh my god!"

_God is the least of your worries, my child._

Oh my God.

There's a voice in my head.

Wait, there's a voice in my head?

_Relax_.

I spin frantically, searching out whoever is bestowing this horror on me. I can feel my brain twisting in agony over a life I never lived. Archer picks up pretty quickly and sweeps me into him, nesting me under his arm as he raises one of his twin blades once more. The voice barely shows any signs of being human, as it's bland and gives away no clue as to gender or intention. Evenso, I pick up hints of it being iced-over and traditional, almost English, kinda like Berserker's.

_That fool you belittle wants to control all of us._

"H-h-h-how d-d-d-o you kknnnow this?" my skin crawls, a million spiders coating me over. What is this awful sensation?

_I materialized within his mind upon the summoning. I want nothing to do with him._

I gulp, reassured by Archer's powerful hand on my shoulder. Another shock wave sends unbearable heat across the small beach-side corner of hell we are trapped in, yet he remains stoic. I try to mimic his unwavering strength. "I want to trust you." My eyes fall on a little girl clad in white, luminescent in the dark space around us.

_Then do, child. I want to kill, we all must strive for the things we want._

"How can you help us?" Cool motive, still murder… right?

_I will aid Rider in ending these new servants. I suggest you beware them, as they seek nothing but absolute assertion._

"Where are you?!"

"_Here_." A body draws out from my feet, something somewhere between nowhere and infinity, a being of shadow. It rises in the form of a man that is figureless and shapeless, with ebbing shadows rising from it in a steamy fashion. The almost face turns around, and an almost smile arises. Then the shadow takes the form of me, messy hair and torn clothes perfect to the T. It winks and springs into the mess somewhere in front of me, the constant collisions overwhelmingly undifferentiated from each other.

Wait, it wasn't the girl? I thought it was that girl in my head.

Archer breathes quietly as he traces where the shadow vanishes off to. "We need to get you out of here." He asserts gently.

"No."

"Gir-"

"I said no. I can still stop Caster, right?" He doesn't look at me, he doesn't have to. "He will continue to harvest prana, likely at a rapid rate. I would be surprised if he didn't spawn new beings again very quickly."

"Then we need to act fast."

I can see explosions. They surround my entire vision, lighting up the darkness. Waves of heat pulsate across my skin, and I know that I have every reason to be terrified. I feel like I should be on a whole new level of terror, but I am entranced by this girl in white.

She isn't that old, no older than ten I'd say. She's dressed for the cold, not for war.

So… who the hell is this? What kind of Heroic Spirit has me trapped in my own skin?

"_Girl_."

"What? Yeah, no, no I get it." I look up at him. Relief washes me over as I can control my body again – maybe it's his presence that broke the spell. Speaking of which, how many chances do I have to do this now?

An overwhelming force suddenly swallows me whole… then it passes over. "I will try to weaken him. Be ready to make the final move."

He's hot, but not my type.

He sees me staring and nods curtly before dashing off. Hot damn I wish I could move that fast, bonus points if I could with that gimpy leg.

I turn back to where that girl was perched on the low tree branch but she's gone. I… I think her smile is still there, but I don't see her eyes. Archer definitely didn't see her, maybe it _was_ an illusion.

Wait

There are eyes.

But those aren't hers – and defiantly not, _not_ human.

The face gains color, the smile gruesome and wide. The trees rustle as marbled flesh takes shape, and a large fore-hand/paw emerges from the darkness beyond. The eyes illuminate with each passing instant, a vibrant orange to match the smileless grin.

I take a step back: the hand is about as big as _me_.

Someone hums from the forest, and despite the low tune, it rises and sings through the violent air. The tune vibrates from the beast and resonates with my childhood.

Another heat wave rolls over my back, and as the other hand emerges, a shiver runs down my spine.

_The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!_

_Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun_

_The Frumious Bandersnatch!_

"Uh… Archer? _Somebody_?"

The trees fall over as the body emerges fully. The fists appear wooden like the muscular skin. Wings emerge from above the tree tops.

"Archer?"  
The body heaves closer, blue veins coursing over the almost-skin.

_Beware the Jabberwock, my son!_

"Archer, I could use you again."

Rider appears in an instant, hair still swaying despite no longer being in motion. His smile is as beautiful as ever, despite the blood splattered across his cheek. "Wait for it, commonergirl."

And from the right comes a roar so infinite and so uncontrollable, I'm forced to clench my jaw just to bear the pressure. The pride in the Egyptian's eyes is everlasting as a new onslaught of air forces its way across my mortal skin.

And thus appears the Sphynx, the guardian deity of the most regal of kings. The stone crumbles away, revealing decayed, servant flesh that stretches and flexes with every movement the manbeast takes. A shadow slides off its neck as the head twists around as it roars again, a cry of destruction and devastation only equal to that of a solar system being born, rippling across the planet. The shadow falls to the ground and crawls away, and on instinct I lunge for the nearest weapon I can find – in this case, the stick that's in Rider's hand – and I charge the shadow.

I'm ape-shit DONE with being scared, especially after what I just friggin' witnessed.

The shadow looks up at me as I approach it (I think Ozymandias was more shocked than anything else when I made my move, because shock resonated across his face as he watched me charge) and I hold the staff just above the person's neck.

"Ohmygod."


	37. The Messenger

The Sphynx charges the nursery rhyme beast, both colliding hand-in-hand (or, more accurately, fist in paw). They scream at each other, strings of saliva rolling off their monstrous teeth and wiggling tongues. Everything is in slow motion, each heartbeat lasting an eternity. To bear witness to such monstronsity isn't easy on the soul, and all I can do is stand, the hairs on my neck rising in the surrounding madness.

And I'm not going to lie – the two of them are, without a doubt, the two most terrifying things I have ever seen, and them fighting each other? If it doesn't rip a hole in space, they'll definatly tear Japan to shreds before they're done.

And I never thought I could cry again. Not in terror, not in pain.

But here I stand with a single, fat tear rolling down my stupid cheek in pitty. I can barely speak and I drop Rider's staff, my body numb with devastation.

"Lancer."

An eye glistens under the blood that runs from his brow, and a bloodied smile slowly pries at the corners of his lips.

"Don't speak." I command, shaking like a leaf as I fall to my knees. _Where is all of this blood coming from? _I shuffle around so his head is on my lap and I press my hand gingerly into a wound on his shoulder.

"Don't speak, just… j-j-just keep b-breathing."

His smile grows until he is forced to cough up blood.

"I… tried-"

"Don't speak!" I order, my voice shaking as it rises over the roaring in the background. More explosions erupt behind me somewhere, and the earth trembles as the Sphynx is thrown to the ground.

"J…just don't speak."

"He saved me, he shielded me from most of the blast." He coughs and sputters, blood gurgling from his mouth as his body heaves for oxygen. "But… he. Had. Something. To. Say."

He sputters and raises his head, watching his one working hand as it reaches across his body. I shake my head furiously, pressing down harder and harder on his shoulder.

"Lancer, please, stop. I…" I open my eyes and peer down into him, tears rolling freely down my hideous face. But I cant finish what I'm saying – there's nothing to say, not to this hero. Not to _my_ hero.

"He… he said _Amicitiae nostrae memoriam spero sempiternam fore_ between his human lips." His head rolls a little as he chuckles despite himself, more blood splattering, but this time protected into my leg. "That boy was a berserker, to say the very least." And he turns back to look at me, hand finally reaching my face.

He cups my face in his hand, in his hand coated in blood. His blood, his enemy's blood, his comrad's blood. He looks me in the eyes one last time, his vibrant, unbelieavably attractive eyes shutting for the last time as they gloss over in tears of his own. He smiles wider while his body spasms, live leaving his body for the last time.

"I… I don't know what that means, but I am sure it is beautiful."

"Lancer, _please_." The world shakes, the battlefield drawing forth the curtain of a never ending war. "Please. Don't leave me."

"You still have him, and he will protect you." He gasps, drawing in one last breathe; his body begins to ebb away, drifting into stardust and rising as ashes. First it is his legs, then his arms. Until, lastly, is his torso and head, to which sits in my lap, hair perfect as it always was and always will be.

"Never forget what you fight for. Always remember what it means to be a chivarlous person." His face relaxes, muscles softening in peace. "And never, ever forget –

You have but one mission, and that is to survive."

.

.

.

* * *

Sorry, the last transition/sappy update. I promise!


	38. Eight pieces of Seven

A mission.

The earth shakes beneath me, bringing my heaved-over body to collapse against the naked earth. Another burst of energy corrupts my back, the wave searing me under my layers. Rider stands beside me, his rage rolling off him in a despicably quiet manner as he reaches down to pick up his king's crook.

"You stole from me. And you belittled my possession with your dirt."

I need to concentrate. I need to focus.

A mission

A mission.

A mission? For some stupid reason, all I can visualize in my darkness is that damned homeroom teacher of mine; he lingers over me at my desk, my desk of blood that is this earth, and commands me forward.

Breathe, girl. Breathe and count your breathes.

"No. Yes, no, yes you are right."  
"Which is it?"

Wait.

_Count_.  
"Yes. I am a commergirl and I have wronged you. You are the king of kings, aren't you?" I wipe my eyes and heave a shaky, single breath. "You are absolutely right. You have every right to kill me. You-"

"Then I should." A flicker, not unlike a fly suddenly running into my neck; but it stays, a metallic threat, cold to the touch despite my burning body.

"Yes." He rolls the staff in his hand, the metallic growing and shrinking against my body as my eyes remain unmoving. They rest uselessly in the space between my uncurled, useless hands.

Useless.

Useless.

Useless.

I can hear my father, I can see him sitting across from me at dinner, newspaper in hand, protecting his face from my bleeding eyes.

_Useless._

The metallic sits still, and my goosebumps rise uncontrollably. The sphinx roars.

_Count, you damned failure, count!_

He has every right to kill me.

And this _wait_ is killing me.

Seconds drip by. Hours, days, years. An eternity of awaiting my ultimate (and rather untimely) demise before he retracts.

"You will serve me henceforth."  
"Yes."

"You will do your part."  
"Yes."  
The cold removes itself from my neck. The breath I didn't know I was holding in is release, my heart scratching against me for oxygen.

"Now get up and move."

I have a mission. I have a duty. I need to stand up, and I do. One leg at a time. One fist against the ground to push up.

One mission. One responsibility.

One chance.

I look at Rider without flinching. He must be exhausted, I can see bags beginning to develop under his perfect eyes. Those golden veins still flex under his skin, rivers of power. Those eyes are almost as beautiful as Lancer's. I can almost count the veins, the pulsating gold.

I step closer to him

"I need to get to the waterside. Can you… grace me with your presence?"

"Why?" He seems somewhat actually puzzled, but my expression remains unchanged. I start walking towards the many explosions, like the utter idiot I am. "If he won't let me touch him, I'll have to expose him to what was put in me. The next best thing would be to indirectly get to him, like how Lancer died the first time."

"Speak clearly to your king, commergirl."

I turn around and watch him. My hair is thrown to the side, then to the other side, before settling down again. I must look rabid with this fire behind me.

"Can you come with me to get to Caster?"

He reclines a little before walking towards me. He considers his options. "No, but I shall continue pressuring him. His mana should be depleting, at least a little at this time."

"That's fine by me. Where's Archer?"

He nods his head to the forest behind me, and I run. I never would have figured that the one thing that made me who I am would be the thing leading me to my death; then again, I never thought that, _if_ I were to end my life of my own free will, it wouldn't be for something as damn stupid as this. But I can't think of anything better.

Between me and the warzone is the game of chess between the Sphynx and the monster from the forest. They slam and slam, claws raking and mouths agape as they try to tear out each other's throats. One foot slams into the earth, followed by a body, and I run between them. For some reason, the sphynx is on fire, or it ignites on this instant. The winged beast thrusts its foe up and throws it to the side, somewhere beside me and too close for comfort. If I looked up, I'd be under an archway of terror, bodies colliding into one another. The instant I clear them, the warzone suddenly explodes in a fury of dust, as the monster-beast from earlier (you know, the one with the eyes that are too big) is catapulted into the earth – I can only assume he was thrown here from the moon, based on how hard he hits the ground. Beasts and tentacles are thrown aside, and I can't tell you which is which anymore. The ground is coated over in a dark red, and I trek through, legs pounding in my trademark, messy run. Past the beast, past the petite woman who lands beside me as she finishes him off. Past the man with the daunting eyes who quarrels with the knight with green hair. Tentacles still wiggle across the earth as terrible terrors consume them, blood and devastation reeking on a whole new level of disgusting. Someone that I can only imagine must look like me – at least, me with my hair out of control, covered in blood, and in worst shape than a prostitute on Labor Day - moves at a dazzling pace as it throws itself at the petite woman. A man with a roaring, boastful smile draws back a sword, and charges in after the variant version of me. Running in slow motion wouldn't have helped me catch a full glimpse, nothing could. Not with this insanity. Beyond the last few trees, and I almost am thrown over Archer's collapsed body.

Almost

I jump at the last second and spin around to go to him – bad choice. Something hits me from behind, and instead I'm _thrown_ at him.

I get up, hands in fists as I push against everything I know. Slowly but surely I'm back on my feet, right hand thrown back as if to protect Archer's lifeless body. I grind my teeth and look at the end of the world: eyes even, neither of us moving.

He seems unfazed, that gruesome grin still terrifying consuming his face. I breathe steadily, forcing myself to behave like any hero would. The thing that I thought I saw earlier has amounted to a beast nearly thirty feet tall and continuously growing.

My knees buckle a little under me, but like hell I'm about to give up.

Caster is saying something, but I'd be lying if I said I was paying attention; he stands a few steps away from the last bleeding star, the eighth one in this puzzle with seven pieces. The song of life, the birds, the bees, the rustle of the branches underfoot, ceases to exist. The only sound from the forest and world around me is that of fire, the cackle of Death, the terror within us all. I want to fall to my knees – god, if only I could! – and lie down. I want to curl up and cry and wait for my end. I want to, I want to, I want to!

And for the flicker of an instant – a heartbeat, really, the same amount of time that spans a lifetime – everything that has lead up to this burns within my mind. What I saw that Wednesday. The flower that blossomed as Assassin loomed just outside of sanity's reach. Lancer's birthmark, smile, and tears. The glint in Berserker's eyes under the moonlight. The knife in my protector's back. My… my guardian, that hero in red. Caster's death-defying face, the lips that curl around those sharp teeth. The heart of the fire on my back ignites me, my horror, my resolve.

I turn to look at Archer and nearly sob outloud when I realize he's still alive; barely, but he IS still here. I whisper, barely audible as Caster takes two steps closer to me. Three. Four.

I stop looking at him and stare at the still-glowing ball of energy, the eighth one. Who is that? _What_ is that? Caster begins speaking to me, but like hell I'm going to listen to that crack job. His face is lit up by the ball of light, his hands almost touching it as he marvels at… something or other. He may be saying something about his dearly beloved, but it sounds kinda religious: sorry guys, but I was never very good at listening in church.

"Archer, I have one more trick up my sleeve." I can't look at him, I can't afford to. All I can do is pray in internal screaming that he can hear me. "I need you to watch me and help. I need you Archer, okay?" I can hear him cough, and I take that as a yes.

And somehow he rises; I don't know the fullest extent of this – the hows or the whys or any of that shit – but he rises, and that's all that matters right now.

I inhale crisp air. There's a pain in my side (maybe my rib?) and a throbbing in my head. My ankle feels a little swollen, and I'm pretty sure that, all in all, I look like the shit I feel like.

But I inhale and I run.

Not at Caster – hell no, he'll just keep throwing me into the ground with his sea monsters – but rather at the ball of light. The eights ball of light in a war of seven servants.

No, I don't know what it is. I don't know who it is, I don't know where it came from or where it's going. No, I'm sorry, not it, but they – it is a light after all, and all life is light.

And life, at the end of the day, is opportunity.

Caster must be screaming, because that is all I hear. As my fingertips extend into the light, I am consumed (again) by everything that is and everything that never was, all that never will be. This blinding light that drips… how do I explain it? I really can't. My soul ignites, my heart chokes on its sobs, and my vision turns indigo.

* * *

Everything. Everything that is and all that is not and everything in between. Time. Life. Death. The Earth spins beneath me as I'm suspended in a reality that is not real. That blind spot? That one in your eyes that you never noticed until someone pointed it out? That blind spot that you can never pinpoint, but is always there?

That is this.

That is here.

And this is me.


	39. Castle Walls

_Minor language warning. _

I lie in waste, a small pool of murk around my essence as I look up. I look up and cannot turn. I look up and cannot breathe. This murk, it may be blood; my blood, their blood, _its_ blood, maybe everyone who has ever lived has contributed to this pool. The liquid ripples around me in its infinite sea of nothing.

All I can do is exist in this wasteland, looking up at a beast that stares down at me.

A beast. That is all I can say about it. I cannot describe its features, as it has none – no, it's a concept, a piece of existence just like emotions. It bears no physical body, unless you consider the fact that it lives within us all. Ten crowns rest upon it, and that is all I know. It breathes. It feels. It cries out, and is not heard.

No – from its prison in the heavens, in this place between time and space, it remains and serves its sentence to humanity.

_what is it that i want_

What is it that _you_ want?

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Do you want the truth?

God, for the longest time, I thought I wanted nothing; hell, I thought I wanted to die.

I can almost curl my lifeless fingers into a fist. I wanted to cease, if we're being blunt.

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But right now? God, I'm consumed by a hunger that I can't fathom putting into words. I can't explain this desire, this greed, this clawed hand that extends from me and grapples into the earth.

What is it that I want?

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I want to _live._

I'm not too sure if I fell over or not. I'm not too sure I actually lived through it, to be honest. But I can feel something new coil down deep within me, and I can feel it rise through my throat.

The indigo that blinds me fades away, revealing this horrible world. First, I see Caster and his ugly, bloodlust eyes. I look a little to my left, and I see Archer. He has a bow drawn back and pointed in my direction.

Heh. He looks shorter for some reason.

I look down and realize why: I'm in… _heels_? Fuck that. But it's not even the _good_ part. Iron-clad armor covers me, yet I feel like I'm light as a feather. The metallic gleam covers me all the way up to my neck – its dark, almost a natural, midnight darkness with a hint of purple in it. In hand is a shield, like, the size of a boulder (this doesn't seem all that practical) and before I can consider releasing it, this coiled essence within me takes control.

No.

Instead, my hand tightens around the handle and I sum up Caster once more.

I have a shield.

I have some goddamned pumps.

I'm going to tear this asshole apart.

No.

The shield, on closer inspection, has a cross on the side facing away from me; this side facing me, on the other hand, hums slightly under my curled fingers, and it takes no longer than a heartbeat to understand what this is.

It's Rho Aias – maybe not the Rho Aias I knew, or maybe it has evolved in some way. _Nonetheless, it feels a little different than before _I muse, rolling the handle around in my palm a little. As large as this shield may be, it is remarkably light. The hum is there, but it is… I don't know, more regulated? More controlled? More rhythmic? No petals extend in their pinkish light, and its stone-cold exterior protects what I can only assume is the delicate yet unchained power within. No, I can't guarantee that this is Rho Aias. Right now, I can't even guarantee that I am myself, but as I look at Caster once more, his face twisted in disgust, all I need to know is how to fight.

Actually, that's a good point – I catch myself hesitating as I take a single step forward, sinking into the soggy soil: how the hell do you fight with a shield? I look at Archer as if he has the answer, and he almost smiles.

Almost.

This skin that has been mine my entire life feels full. I can almost feel another heartbeat pulsating quietly within mine – yes, I am me, and no, _I am not alone._ The little aches and pains from moments ago have evaporated, and I can feel a new strength filter through my muscles.

I toss my hair over my shoulder – someone had the time to brush it all out, apparently, and to braid it back like a war maiden's updo – and stand firm under the wrathful gaze of Caster. His hands shake uncontrollably, his hunched back arched even more than before. "But… how?" his voice rises and falls. "How is this possible? This was to be my Je'ann de Arc! You! _You_-"he wags his nasty bag-lady fingernail at me, "You ruined her chance! You destroyed my one opportunity to be reunited with her! This was to be my divine grace, my everything!" Caster's voice fluctuates like a rising tide, his mountainous beast in the water ebbing closer and closer, tentacles wiggling as it grows taller and taller, interfering with the purity of the heavens. "Why would you trial me in such ways? Oh, my God! Oh, my Holy Father!" He lifts one hand as if to grasp the heavens while his book re-materializes in his waiting palm. "My Holy Father! Beseech me with your grace! Grant me your knowledge, breathe the Holy Spirit upon me!"

I keep downplaying how terrified I've been – I won't anymore. I'm ready to cry and pee and sob and let him take my life.

Or, at least, that's what I would have been saying, like, a second ago. Something inside of me won't allow the sadness to rise: in its place is a peace. The best way to describe this peace is that it isn't mine; it's like, oh, I don't know, a set of white hands pulling and prying its way through the darkness. Yeah, that's it. I take another step forward, ignoring the mud that sinks beneath me. Those white hands dig deeper into my soul.

I'm not saying I'm without fear – fear is what drives survival and it drives my next step. But I have the strength to overcome this fear, and I'm going to take it and drive myself forward of my own free will.

Another step. Caster begins preaching again, but I could care less. Archer stands somewhere behind me, and for the first true time, I no longer need him.

Well, so I will say for now.

Each step leads to a full on sprint, and it's a sprint unlike any I have tripped on before – my vision blurs (only a little) and I am moving at the speed of gods.

My shield rises so it's not getting dragged in the mud, my right hand expertly twisting it around. Within a heartbeat – no, half of a heartbeat – I'm close enough to feel Caster's rank breath on my face. My hair sways behind me as I stop my motion, daunting him, playing with him. I tease a smile on my lips as I count the freckles under his eyes. They're kind of green-ish grey, if you're wondering.

I could reach out and grab him. That's all I need to do, right? But I'm not foolish enough to charge in at him and leave my blind side vulnerable. The monster from the water latches out at me, but I knew it was coming.

Again, this isn't me, specifically. It's the Spirit that cradles me in my own skin.

I jump at the last instant, twisting my body away to the left and slicing with my shield on the right. The tentacle falls with a satisfactory "_thunk_" to the Earth as the next comes at me.

This one is even easier.

The next catches me by the leg, and I snap my body nearly upon itself to slam down on the wriggling mass. I land, count my blessings, and look at Archer. "What happened to my backup?" I shout, dodging the next tentacle-bullet that came for my face. As it reclines back to the massive body, I splice through it, and the tip goes wiggling at Archer's feet.

Did the Spirit in me do that on purpose?

"Cut to the chase girl and do your part!" He snarls, smokey voice are soothing to listen to as ever. He draws back, bow in hand, and sends my cover flying into the creature. But quick question Archer – what am I supposed to do? Is if that thing will let me get close enough, not a second time. An armada of red death snarls itself in the skin of the creature, embedded deep enough for a single, stupid idea.

An idea that, for some reason, this Spirit within me didn't have any objections to.

One step after another, I ascend the creature. I shake a little in these stupid shoes trying to stand upright on each arrow embedded deep in the creature, but I'm not on any of them longer than an instant, so it's not too much of a cause for concern. I launch myself as I near the top, rising who-know-how-many feet in the air. Calm, dark, cold air catches me as I ascend.

It's cool up here. I can see the fire on the bank and I can see the Sphynx clawing at the nightmare nursery rhyme. Some of my stray hairs whip out of control as I near my peak and slowly fall. The shield is weightless in my hand as the tables turn and I begin to descend.

_Its calm_ I breathe out, eyes closed in this instant of pure peace. This power will be difficult to live without; it's hard to imagine a life without this immense control, this seemingly unending potential. How _did_ I live without all of this?

I dip my left shoulder beneath me to roll around, face down towards the impeding earth. The beast grows and grows filling my vision, and I heave the shield back over my head. My body curls in a reverse- fetal position, Rhio Aias firmly grasped in both hands, the prong of the cross ready to spear this creature once and for all. But it didn't take a lot of effort on my part for it to drive through the many layers – my earth beckons me closer, pulling me back to where I came from and where I belong.

It's fascinating, really. My teacher once said that we're made of the same crap as what's in stars across the far reaches of space, and for some odd reason, that is all I can think of right now. Those stars that we will never touch, and yet we have bits and pieces of within us.

I near the Earth, and I can't help but wonder why it refuses to release us to the heavens. This gravity, what purpose does it serve? To keep us on our knees? As I impede too close to the top of the creature, I slam down, releasing my buildup of potential. At the last second, the coil of energy within me extends through my every limb, igniting my fingertips and entering the shield. As the energy of this Spirit in me reaches the shield, its lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, putting the stars to shame. The light surrounds me, offering me a little bit of protection as I slice into Caster's creature. Ok, and believe me when I say the sensation is absolutely revolting: the smell, the slimy surface of blood and tentacles completely encasing me, god it's overwhelming. I were alone in my skin, I would have thrown up (among other things, if you know what I mean), but that doesn't stop me from sinking deeper and deeper into the creature. I pierce pretty deep, but the voice inside of me whispers something, forcing me to give a sideways glance; the hole behind me – my plan for escape in this almost-thought-out-plan – was closing up.

Shit.

I try to curl my shield a little more, forcing the flat side underneath me instead of the prong-end, but the force around me is great. If I were alone, my arms would have been ripped off in the effort. I grit my teeth and heave, entire body straining under the effort. The deeper into this creature, the tighter the small space became. With each passing second the creature closes in around me, the smell of sulfur and piss burning my lungs. My eyes tear up and I wince them shut; I'm likely crying or screaming or something, but I can't hear. The blood in my ears pounds away, driving out any sound, human or otherwise.

And I stop my motion.

The wiggling around me seems endless, the stench, vast. The shield suddenly seems very, very heavy in-hand, and I can't do shit to get oxygen in my lungs. If my lungs would even work.

The Spirit struggles against the weight, forcing my body to move as I hand the reins over. Hands curl into fists and pound away, legs trying furiously to stretch in this cramped spot of hell. A minute passes, maybe two. The Spirit keeps trying, and its power over me increases as my willpower fades away.

_I never would have imagined it would end like this. _

The Spirit stops struggling, and sound returns to me. I force my eyes open against the slime and grim, trying to inhale desperately. I can almost hear something outside, but I really, really can't tell.

If my lungs weren't filled with so much bile, they'd be on fire. The mortal body can only deal with so much stress for so long, despite having a Heroic Spirit inside of it. Again, it's my body, not their's.

_I DO NOT want to die!_ I rear up, trying to raise my head and bracing my weight on my balled fists. I'm done with this near-death shit. This time, I'm aware of my screaming.

I plop back down, body heaving in deprivation. I'm not about to allow myself to die, not from a stupid idea like this. My teeth grind in frustration – whether I'm willing it or the Spirit, I couldn't tell you.

But what the hell _can I do_?  
I'm aware that my cheeks are wet, and I'm aware that I'm crying; the cause of the tears I couldn't tell you, but I know it's there. The white-hot knives that stab my lungs filter down to my organs, and for some unusual reason, I can feel blisters forming in my body.

Wait.

I fumble around in the near-darkness to grip my shield again.

My shield.

It _is_ Rhio Aias, at least to some extent. I grip the handle with both hands and drag myself sideways so my chest is on it. My body moves slowly, all of my weight being dragged by my hands. Once I'm firmly on the shield I heave, and dip into the energy that isn't mine.

I hope the Spirit won't mind.


	40. Endgame

_Minor language warning_

I wonder what Berserker would have done in my position. He strikes me as the kind of guy to rationalize each action he makes, except for… well, you know, when he loses his shit. I'm drawn back to a time that isn't my own, a time and place that can only be somewhere off in the corner of London.

Now, how I know that, I have no idea. Just go with it.

The darkness is still and damp. A mouse could breathe, and the whole world would notice in this quiet. The smell of rain lingers on the cobblestone streets, and if I look up, I can see a single candlelit pan. It hangs above me as I try to breathe.

And I breathe.

And I scream.

And out shoots the seven petals of Rhio Aias in its full glory. The shield slices in every direction, annihilating each piece of flesh surrounding me. Sweet oxygen floods through the crevices and I inhale crisp life.

God that's nice! I can practically feel the spirit within me breathe a sigh of relief alongside me. I can open my eyes, the sting of death noticeably less intense for this blistering moment: but we aren't out of this yet.

I roll as quickly as I can, the spirit giving me the extra _umph_ needed to completely my little circle. The petals must be spanning at least ten feet in each direction, and as we're nearing the position we began this little endeavor in, glee fills my companion. The creature heaves around me, and I can tell that we struck something valuable; we cut out a roughly twenty-foot circle from within the creature, I'd be surprised if we didn't hit something important. The petals retract, and while I'd be lying if I didn't note the exhaustion that consumes me now, but I really, really can't afford to think about it at this time.

Unfortunately, the material we disconnected collapses full-force, and all of the beast's weight that we already cut through falls down upon us. At least now it's easier to crawl through, and my body feels slightly rejuvenated from that small sweet chance to breathe. Still, if we had to make a pie chart on my level of exhaustion right now… _well, you know those picture of the pie charts that are, like, the entire page is blackened out? _I quiet my senses and revert back to my old self, the me that would listen to the secrets from down the street as I lied in bed at night, unable to fall asleep. For a blunt second, I pause, aware of how critical I am in this situation. _If it were anyone _but_ me here?_ Finally, something makes sense, and I turn my head in the direction that the outside world seems to be the loudest. _I'd be that weird-ass pie chart_. I crawl furiously, dragging my shield.

My body

My life.

I grind my teeth and force my way where the sound seems to be the strongest. Everything piles down from above – if the life doesn't get squeezed out of me, I'd be blessed and will go to church for the rest of my life. Everyday.

Well, every weekend.

Cool air finally resurfaces on my fingertips, and I crawl forward more furiously. An explosion rings out outside, and I scramble. I feel like my insides are melting, the scorching lack of oxygen making me shake.

Shit.

_Archer_!

I emerge, practically using my chin to drag. My arms fully emerge, and I slam the shield into the outside of the creature, using it as leverage as I thrust my head out into the world.

Is that what life is like when you're born? Shit. I'm glad I don't remember that crap. I inhale again and again, dragging the last of the way out and flopping belly up.

Caster's creature isn't wiggling.

Did I kill it? Well, did we?  
I'm oddly aware of my environment, and Caster's blaring crying and shouting and shit slowly emerges. I don't give two fucks - I honestly can't muster the strength to. But what happened to that explosion I heard? My chest rises violently with each breath as I lift my head stupidly and look around.

I can't see a whole lot – I squint to adjust to the light: I mean, it's still a lack-there-of of light, but it's a lot brighter than inside of the creature. Caster's at it and preaching in my direction. I roll my eyes and they land on Archer, and the struggle to breathe suddenly evaporates.

He's a few feet from me, relief stretched across his face. I'm frozen like a deer in the headlight under the light of his face. Archer is knee-deep in the death of the creature, hands covered in muck. Was he digging through all of that for me?

But god, that face. I've never seen him so emotional, I almost can't function. He's first to speak, since I clearly can't.

"I thought you were dead."

"Same." I roll over and prop myself up on my forearms. "Well, I thought I was dead, but I also thought you were dead. I heard something." I choke a little on some bile, and I find myself heaving to relieve my body of the disgust I was nearly buried in. Archer crosses the last bit of distance between us and brushes the tip of my braid out of the way. Between me losing my stomach and Caster walking closer and closer to us, it's kind of peaceful.

"The explosion you heard was the other servants. Some took themselves out." I look up, my confused and exhausted resting bitch face still struggling to keep my mouth open. I try to look out at the bank just beyond my sight to see the man with green hair who swept in to my rescue cut the head off a child. The head rolls and the man falls to his knees, exhaustion coating over his bloody body.

What the actual hell.

"What about Rider?"

"Don't worry about it." He looks over his bloodied shoulder at Caster who is obviously PO'd that we aren't listening to his woes. He offers a hand to help me up. "We have our own problem to deal with."

"Good point." I start to reach up for him and hesitate at the last second; I've only known this guy for, what, a day? I thought we was going to rape me on that beach. All he would ever do was look down at me. I thought that was the extent of our… none-existent relationship. My eyes follow my hand as I reach down for my shield. _This thing is awful helpful._ The Heroic Spirit inside of me seems to recollect itself, coiling up and reconcentrating its energy.

But now? I reach the last distance between us and grab him by the forearm. He heaves me up on my feet as an equal.

His arm isn't working – his left one, that is. It dangles uselessly by his side. He also has some gnarly gashes on his legs and some blood on his brow. As for me, I'm severely oxygen deprived, so much so that I'd be surprised if I walked away from this with everything working properly in a week's time. I heave, aware that my body is shaking, but functioning at least to the point that it is still useable.

We stand shoulder-to-shoulder as Caster stops walking towards us. Sweat lines his massive forehead. "God, this guy's gross," I mumble quietly, hardly audible with my short breath. I can see Archer glare at me from out of the corner of his eye. "You're one to talk." I glare back.

"E-_NOUGH_!" Caster wails, arms wagging around, hag-lady nails long and digging into his palms. "You have disgraced me! After all of my hard work for oh so long! I have nearly graced this plane with my dear Joann d'Arc, and you DARE impede on my plans!" His buggy-eyes glisten a little, and for some reason, this has an impact on me; I take a deep breath and relax my body.

I can't reason with this idiot. I was hoping I could, something deep down inside of me was hoping we could bring a peace after all of this crap. Then again, this is the man who is responsible for killing dozens of people… hundreds, probably, if not thousands, if we count all of time.

Takao wouldn't want me to kill him. Would he? Something nags me from the corner of my brain, and the maniac's sorrow finds a way into a dark memory that wasn't mine. Maybe it was a dream, an illusion of some sort from a million lifetimes ago. I can almost see a nose outlining my vision, and for some reason, I'm convinced that it belongs around my neck.

But this is the weird part: I _know_ that I have wronged. I _know_ that there is no redemption for me. Like Berserker, this man killed many for some sort of cause. Lancer too. And Archer… well, I'm still not all that sure what he does… or did, really. But what was it? What was his reasoning for severing frail and innocent lives? Was it his love for this… woman? The girl who peeks at me, from this heavenly vision, from the clouds? Who was she?

"It doesn't matter," I growl, more at myself than at Caster. No one moves on this chessboard. "You know that what you have done is wrong. Then why try?"  
"WHY?" He bellows, the force of his lungs forcing saliva to catch on his lip. "Why would I do what I do? Is it not simple? Life itself is not worth living unless one has someone to live for! And the one that I live for, I bring to this realm! I bring back to life!" He shakes his hands at me, trying for the last time to conquer what he will never have: a basic grasp of reality. "I seek to bring her back! Is that so wrong?"

"Nah, the idea isn't." I grip my shield and hone my eyes on my target. "But the method? Cool motive, still murder."

And I dart at him, a cry rising in my heart and erupting from my mouth. My knee is up and I grab him from the face before his last-minute manifestations can get to me.

Who am I kidding. I know all too well what he's talking about. It's almost like looking in a mirror. He only acts because he has some underlying reason to act out, something he hasn't always had. He's trying his damndest to bring that reason to this world. He's trying to reason through the pain.

That's what Lancer did. He just wanted to give the world to his family, and to have his family live without what shame he was burdened with. Berserker did the same – everything for knowledge… or something like that.

Who am I, a rat who, for the longest time, didn't feel any compelling reason to live, to judge him? He has a goal, an ambition, and that alone isn't wrong. That's something I never accomplished.

Not until now.

Now, as I kill a man.

My hand grips his face, and my body explodes.

* * *

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I open my eyes to a blank whiteness. There is no wind, there is no bank sand to sink into. There is no darkness. The calm is surreal, something that can't be compared to or explained through words. There is no reason to fear. And yet-

"I…" I sit down, wrapping my arms around my folded legs. I dig my short nails into my legs, praying for the pain that I can't sense. "I'm afraid," I whisper into my knees, tears rolling freely from my eyes. "I'm so, _so afraid_."  
A kind hand rests on my shoulder. I peek up to see a gentle face I have never seen before, yet I have always known.

It is Takao. It is my Heroic Spirit. It is me.

My vision blurs as I look at the face, my chest swarming with guilt. I cry freely, each syllable I speak drowned in chocking sobs. "I'm- I'm _so_ _sorry_. I let you down, didn't I?"

"And what makes you say that?" This voice… it is… new. Is it Takao? No, it isn't. It isn't mine either. But my body tightens under the pressure.

"It's… because I'm so afraid. I'm afraid of what I will become after this. It's because I'm afraid of how to move." I release my legs and look at my hands; they are clean, but dipped in filth. Filth I will never scrub off. "What use are legs when I can't run? What good are hands when all they do is drag through mud? Am I-" I look back up, and the face is blurry through my wet vision. "Am I dead now?"

"Do you want to be?"

The kind voice beckons without hesitation, drawing at my heartstrings. Maybe it knows that I cannot answer. "Being fearless isn't the same as being brave." The face rises up, and a hand extends down at me. My hand. Takao's. The Spirit's. A white gauntlet. "Being fearless is idiotic. Bravery is choosing what to do when you _are afraid_."

I must be a mess in this holy place. But whoever this person is, they don't seem to care. Indigo light warms the floor I sit on and filters through my vision.

_Decide, here and now, once and for all._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_Decide who you are._

* * *

I can feel death swarming my body. Contact with Caster has lit a torch in my soul, a fire that burns like white hot knives. The pain stabs at me, immobilizing my body, as I'm consumed by my every fear. My hand grips his face, and I can feel his slimy skin contracting under my fingers. I can feel every cell in my body squirm, contract, and die. I can feel death, and I can understand it. As Caster's face contorts, I can feel the beating hearts of the remaining heroic spirits. They all cry out, a collective sigh of death, and fade into stardust. The woman with the sword… she was a murderer unlike any other. All of them were, really. The big one with the wild face was a legend across the ages. The one without shoes was an advocate for peace. But here they fall, and a peace settles in their bones as they're released by the modern world's gravity. They all die in pain, but not in vain.

I can feel each and every one of them. Every instant that they lived. Every memory that they made. Every swing of the sword, every release of the arrow. Every drop of sweat and blood, it all rushes through me, a beating strong enough to destroy what little innocence I still have.

I can feel Rider. He breathes very deeply as he grips his staff. _Goodbye, old soul_. I will join you soon in your rest.

And then there's Archer.

And for the first time in my life, I know exactly who I am. I am a girl in a world on fire, my hand reaching up in a dim hope that someone will swoop down and carry me away. I am a little redhead boy who dedicated every chance he had to better the world. I can see his fingers as they line up with mine between the raindrops that fall from crying angels and the fire that licks the atmosphere. I can feel his agony, and in this split instant, it is mine.

But he fights the release. He screams, a barbaric thing for this world to ever bear witness to, as he fights his descent. I can feel his pulsating blood and his trembling hand, and most of all, I can feel the weight of his heart.

And, somewhere buried deep in that mess, is something that I can connect to: something that, hey, it might even be mine.

Death wraps its darkness around me, the pain rising like a tidal wave.

But like HELL I'm about to let it best me.

I supply the willpower, but it is Archer who fuels me, and my Heroic Spirit is what mobilizes me. My shield rises high above my head, catching the light of the Holy Grail and reflecting the sun itself.

As I scream, my arm comes down.


	41. The Last

I can't see, I can't see worth shit. I try to open my eyes but they refuse to work. I could have sworn I was in complete control of my life – I was complete and willing and breathing – but here I lie, the darkness gnawing slowly at my every being.

But there's a warmth. I thought that, I don't know. Maybe I convinced myself that I was strong enough. Powerful enough. All of that shit to… I don't know, live forever? But I can't feel my limbs and I can't find my strength.

Maybe though, _maybe_.

Maybe this warmth against me, the warmth that I am curled up unto. Maybe that is the source of my strength. But I can't open my eyes to see it.

Maybe I don't need to see it to know it's there though. Isn't that… isn't that how life works? There are so many things we visibly cannot see, and yet they exist.

Terror.

Knowledge.

Envy.

Rage.

Heartbreak.

Resolve.

Yeah, they'll all real, that's for sure.

And he is real, right here, right now.

"Archer."

Did I even say it? I tried to, but I don't remember my lips moving. I'm suddenly aware of how cold it is, way up here, wherever I am.

"Don't speak." I can imagine him muttering with grit on his tight lips. I can imagine him, eyes silently closed. His fingers dig into my side. "Don't speak. We're almost there."

Did I ask where? Did I finally actually speak?

His grip tightens on me; it feels like we've landed somewhere, only for him to spring up again into the heavens. Maybe he will take me with him this time, to this place between space and existence. Where the heroes lie in wait, where he lives for all of eternity, waiting for hands to catch him on his final descent.

Am I his final descent? That landing felt awful shaky. But we rise again, and the wind whips my hair. It dawns on me how oddly… empty my body feels; the soul inside of me fell into a slumber, if it even exists anymore. That sensation of belonging to another person, to another place and point in time, yet being… I don't know, full? Able-bodied? For the first time ever, like I could take the world in hand and run away? I can't help but feel lonely.

I must look like a hot mess.

"Shhhhhh Kazumi, we're almost there."

I smile – I am sure of it. I can't remember him ever calling me by my name. It is this, this is the source of my strength.

I try to roll my weight so I am held by him more. I can't open my eyes, or maybe I can and all I can see is the darkness. I see no light. Maybe it is blood that I see with my unseeing eyes. Maybe it is my blood.

"You're not dead, and you're not dying. Not tonight."

He sounds so certain. Didn't I actually die today though? Like, twice? At least one and a half times?

It's now that I realize the weight behind his

words.

Wherever I am going, he is not following.

My throat is dry, yet it bleeds; I can feel that awful liquid bubbling from within me. But I muster what I can and choke on my words. My sobs, really, at this point; I can't hold back tears, not right now. Each tear falls slowly, cupping my cheek and holding me still as I refuse to let go.

"Please don't leave me."

It must be just in time as well, as his grip on me loosens. For some reason, the earth is beneath me, not heaven, not hell. Cool grass embraces me and my bloodied back as I fall loosely into it. Gently he lowers me into my grave, back into my miserable existence.

"Ar-cher, _p…please_."

"You are a lot stronger than you think, Kazumi. You are a greater influence to your world then you may ever realize. You remind me of someone from a long time ago… You remind me of myself too, now that I think about it." There it is again – that 'almost' emotion. But it's budding now, its blooming and blossoming. With every word, more emotion fills him. And for the life of me, I can't take it. I can't take the weight behind his unspoken words. I can't take that silent quiver that consumes his chin.

But the sound of sirens slowly rise around me, a swirling cloud of what is and what is not. It is a hum that rises in a serenade of day-to-day heroes. I can practically see the colors as they consume me and the little life I live.

"Please."

Someone shouts off to my right, and I know I'm running out of time. But something touches my forehead, a caring, scarred hand. It brushes away my hair and gently dabs at my wet cheek.

"Insolent girl. I will never leave you."

* * *

And with that, the guardian leaves. A spin of his head as he leaps away reveals the facility nurses had, indeed, found her. When he stumbles back to the earth and its waiting eternity, he crashes, his leg no longer useful. His arm is nearly torn off too, and yet he tries to rise.

For that is all he has ever known, rising when the darkness crashes down. She is safe, and that is a blessing. She will live. And he now has no reason to come to his full height. As he settles on his knees, the guardian picks his chin up to the heavens, waiting for the return to his final resting place. He was the last to survive from this ordeal, the last to die. The last to suffer and to watch the suffering, and as he always and forever will be, he will remain to always be that last one to walk the Earth.

And for the first time since the stars first emerged in his life, he feels peace: from one little girl he learned the power of knowledge and self-worth, the strength to look unfavorable odds in the face and refuse to look away. From this one he learned resilience in its most primitive form – that of a life _dying_ _to_ _live_. That of a short, inexperienced life burdened by horror. Her eyes of speckled indigo, a thirsting light looking for the ever-approaching opportunity to set fire to this rain called war. Eyes just beyond a hand raking through mud, a body seemingly at its end yet forcing itself to keep moving forward.

_That_, he reasons, as the stars take his body away, as his last breathe leaves him, that is what he fights for.

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* * *

**This was written after my break up. It's funny how experiencing these emotions can help you write them.**

**But wait, there's more! Stick around one more week ya'll!**


	42. The Greatest Story Never Told

Two days ago, the world experienced what scientists can only describe as a "supernatural phenomena," a "rare treat for all of us to bear witness to." America claims to be researching what caused the pseudo-solar eclipse, but the Soviet Union claims the United States was responsible for the event itself. No one is sure what really occurred, but many selfies were taken with the bleak sky. Families came together to bathe in the darkness, unaware of any truth behind the event, and unburdened by any care.

No one, that is, but the few survivors.

But today is a day altogether different from two ago. It is the evening of a funeral service in a small town in Japan, a service for a young man who lived quietly and died suddenly. The murderer has yet to be caught, and while the family and federal services are on edge about the entire matter, one resident of the house seems at peace with the devastation. A white circus-styled tent is set up in the middle of an abandoned field. Tables sprinkle the land with food and beverages for the coming and passing guests, and a gentle band plays classical pieces for the mourning. The sun is bright after its rest, and the grass is as green as it even has been.

In the back right corner of this service is a table with two occupants; one, a teacher of the young man, the other an illusive classmate that only passed by the student in the hallways. The teacher smokes aggressively – he is a self-proclaimed hater of everything Japanese – so if his infestation of the atmosphere wasn't enough to ward others away, it was his sour personality. A cloud lingers over that man, and for the first time in years, that cloud contains particles of regret.

Lots of frustration, but a little bit of unmistakable regret.

The girl sits properly, for, unlike the teacher, she is well-educated in the area of funerals. They both dressed appropriately for the occasion, but neither wanted to step foot in the city's bounds. Thus they sit stiffly in their black uniforms, her back straight as a board, his slouched over. He takes up two seats, his feet propped up; her feet are collected underneath her in a delicate manner. They almost seem like normal human beings to the naked eye – irritated and agitated, yet not immune to the weight of the situation – but that is the naked eye.

A girl makes her way from the white circus top tent to the man and young woman. Her arm is in a sling and her hair drapes down over a bruise on her right check, but beyond that, she is indifferent to the situation around her. In fact, this is the girl that considers herself "at peace." The man does not notice her at first, his mind a million miles away. The young woman, on the other hand, notices the girl right away.

"Sorry to bother. May I join you?"

"Please do, and you are no bother to us. We are your guests. Please, sit wherever you like." The young woman stands up, eyes down, weary of this small town. Many things happened here, as this is her hometown; once, many lives ago, she fought in a similar war. She wants to pay homage to the people that made her who she is, but it is the first time since her initial departure that she has come to this corner of the world.

The young woman bows her head and sits back down as the girl refuses to do so. The man eyes her, unmoving. The girl doesn't need to confirm who he is – she knows all to well this uninvited guest's name.

She is silent at first, and the young woman waits patiently. "Thank you for coming today. I know you weren't on the list, but you must have been close to Takao if you came all the way out here."

_She's sharp_ the young woman muses as she pages through plausible responses. "Yes, your brother was a classmate of mine. I am Tohsaka Rin, and it is a privilege to meet you… it is unfortunate it had to be these circumstances, however."

The girl watches the young woman with unchanged eyes. "Yeah. Unfortunate." She turns towards the teacher, watching him carefully. He realizes the silence and sighs internally. He faces the girl, dark eyes catching brilliantly in the light as she addresses him. "You don't have any obligation to be here, so feel free to leave."

_That's rude_ both travelers simultaneously think.

"It wasn't your fault that Takao died. He did this on his own, he requested to be a part of the research team." The man's eyes widen slightly as the girl continues. "He pursued the cases further than he was asked to, that was on him. It was on him and no one else, so you have no reason to be here."

.

Silence.

The sound of gentle laughter in the background lights up the tense situation as the breeze brushes all of their hair; _she knows all about us_. It is in her eyes, it is in her bruise. No one yields as the two travelers eye the aged girl, and the girl stares bluntly back.

She remembers something and reaches in her sling.

"I can't tell if I'm supposed to trust you guys, but my brother trusted you, El-Melloi."

"_The_ _Second_."

"Sorry?" She didn't know he could actually speak. The man drops his cigarette and crushes it under his boot as he sits up straight. For some stupid reason, he forgot his pipe back in his office. He'd been forced thus to buy cigarettes – Japanese cigarettes, of all things. Old habits die hard.

"It is _Lord_ El-Melloi the _Second_."

The young woman looks ready to snap at the man, but bits her tongue at the last second. The girl doesn't move, her hand still buried deep in her sling.

"Alright, _Lord_ El-Melloi the _Second_." She rolls her eyes. The man almost smiles… almost.

"He trusted you, so I think that this belongs to you." She hands him a ratty book no bigger than the palm of his hand. He takes it wearily and immediately leaves through it: the power the surges from the book is powerful alone… it's like an unchained hound, yet obediently waiting for the command to kill. The energy sits, a ball of coiled potential. The girl continues.

"This was his journal on the research. I added some of his loose papers that were drifting around his room. A friend of mine broke the blood-barrier on it and added a few notes. I can't very well read what he put down, but some of it seems relevant. I added my account of what happened, too."

"And what happened, exactly?" The man closes the book and rests it carefully on his folded leg. "The official report says you were found in front of a hospital and you claimed you had no memory of the twenty-four hours prior."

The girl remains stoic. "A man in red saved me. That I know. Everything else," she nods to the moleskin. "Is in there."

"Not everything." The young woman muses, gesturing with her chin to the girl's dress pocket. No one moves.

"That belongs to me now. It was a friend's, then it was Takao's, and now it is mine."

"Whatever is it you have could be used as a weapon in the wrong hands. Are you sure you can hold on to it and keep it safe?"

"It's a tool, not a weapon. It's a tool for protecting those you care about and nothing more. And no," she looks between the two guests, "I don't think its safest with me. Not with who I am today. Not yet."

The man smiles now – its more of a wry grimace than a smile, but it's unmistakably the cocky grin of a fox. "I feel a proposition coming."

"I trusted my brother's livelihood to you just as he once did." The girl sticks her chin in the air. "I want to go to the Tower to study, to continue his research."

"You're barely passing your classes now," the man leans back again, eyes closed, arms folded. The girl doesn't question how he knows this: there's no need. "Why should I allow you into my facilities?"

"Because I know what your goal is." His eyes open, and the young woman sits up straighter. "Takao was aware of some people trying to destroy the Holy Grail. It's a curious thing," the girl turns to face the young woman, "that a Tohsaka, which helped make the Grail, is now trying to destroy it, but I'm in no place to judge. I want to study magic." She asserts quickly without hesitation. "I want to join you at the Tower. If I need to play the part of a custodian, fine. Whatever. But I want in."

"And what would you possibly be able to bring to a prestigious school such as mine? How would you contribute?"

"Nothing. Like I said, I'm not much right now. And without a hand, I'm even worse than I was a week ago." She removes her arm from the sling and waves her stump in the air. As her sleeve falls up her arm, scars like lightening bolts race up her forearm in hisses of indigo and blue. The Tohsaka woman catches her breath: the man's hard face slightly softens as he traces shimmers of green swimming in the veins. "But I didn't go through hell for nothing."

The small group is silent until the man heaves himself up. He stands in front of the girl as the young woman joins him on her own two feet, her hands tracing the linen of the tablecloth as she rises. The three stand together as background laughter sails through the gentle atmosphere.

The man puts the moleskin in his coat. "I will consider what you have said, and you will be contacted promptly."

"Thank you."

The man takes his leave, and the young woman sighs, this time with a little more expression on her face. "I'm sorry, he's a little hard to handle. He doesn't like losing."

"_Losing_? To _me_? Is _that_ what he thinks just happened?"

"That, and what has led to us being here." The ladies watch the man's hunched back as he walks further away. "He may deny it, but he does care for all of his students. Your brother was exceptional… who knows, E-M might have even seen himself in Takao."

He spins around to glare at the girls. Tohsaka smiles and bows deeply to the girl. "I am so, so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. I appreciate you saying that."

"I do have a question, however."

"Shoot."

The woman stands at full height once more. "Who was the man in red?"

The girl blinks. "I have no idea. He never told me. He was some sort of angel from hell or… something."

Tohsaka smiles slowly as she takes her leave after another delicate bow. Her eyes wench shut as she considers all of the possibilities that could mean. "Well, all I can say is I'm glad you're here with us today."

To the woman's departing back, the girl quietly replies. Her hair catches the wind, and she curls it back behind her ear, exposing her bruise to the world.

"Yeah. Me too."

: - :

The girl you once saw before you is no more. Once a child deprived of reason for life, the young woman today is a hero of her generation, a spirit focused on good-doings in honor of her late brother.

She attended The Tower as a student after working three years in the library and as a personal assistant to Lord El-Melloi the Second. Her work remains undocumented.

She died at 36 to blood poisoning, a side effect from her adventure that night.

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That's all folks!

This has been a treat to write, and I have a few thinks to say on my end.

Thank you Fate series, for getting me hooked on such an unfathomable story.

Thank you Type-moon for being so hard to put into words.

Thank you Ufotable for breathing life into these crazy stories.

Thank you, to all of our ancestors, who where the ones that gave rise to these heroes. Without you, none of us would look to the skies and dream of our own adventures.

And thank you Deflk for introducing me to this story. You may consider yourself a Saber-class servant, but you'll always be the best Lancer on the West Coast in my book. ~Love, Rider.

And finally, thank you everyone who bothered to read this. I honestly did this for you, and your support was great motivation to keep the wheels spinning. This was originally a one-shot, and I am so, so glad it evolved past that. This is to you all. Thank you!

Easter eggs, anyone?

Human transmutation is referenced in chapter 6, a nod to _Fullmetal Alchemist_

Hiro, our heroine's surviving brother, is named after the protagonist of _Big Hero 6_

The TARDIS from _Doctor Who_ is named by Berserker while trying to translate Takao's journal

The protagonist's last name is a spin-off from the original Hokage of the Hidden Leaf village in _Naruto_: Hashirama Senju

The civilians met in the convenience store are (in order) Kei Tsukishima and Tadashi Yamaguchi, Yugo Hachken, Arslan, Elam, and Daryun, and finally Coach Ukai from _Haikyuu!_ _Silver Spoon, and The Heroic Legend of Arslan Senki, _respectfully. [as a side note, I personally consider Yugo to be the fictional character I identify best with. Yeah, I'm that much of a loser XP]

Originally, the eighth ball of light was honestly going to be Joann. Decided to turn the tables and bring out our character's inner-hero (finally)

"Castle Walls," the chapter title, refers to three things: the expression that Galahad (Shielder) is known for, the fact that Kazumi was inside of the Grail itself, which had the Beast of 666 wearing crowns (thus implying a kinghood; also a reference to the original creature's place in the Bible), and a Macklemore song.

The heroes that are summoned towards the end are non-other than Atila (Saber), Musashibou Benkei (Lancer), Achilles (Rider), Chiron (Archer), Nursery Rhyme (Caster), Jack the Ripper (Assassin), and Heracles (Berserker), the characters I believe to be the strongest of each class. I excluded god-like characters, such as Gilgamesh and Launcher, since I thought they are hardly fair on ANY playing board, and an outsider classes.

That is, except for Rider. I needed help with selecting that one, and I thought I'd make some fun out of it!

The chapter titled "Eight pieces of Seven" is a direct allusion to the 8th ball of light, Shielder. It is, however, inspired by the Seven pieces of Eight in _Pirates of the Caribbean_.

Assassin was No-Named Assassin from Fate/Strange Fake, but I took the liberty of tweaking her abilities. Sorry if that disappoints you.

Heroic Spirit Emiya, our "resident sourpuss," is Archer after the events of _Unlimited Blade Works_, but before any other Fate event.

Originally, neither Lancer nor Berserker was going to make it back to the final showdown. I decided to torture our character a little more and wanted it to be Berserker, but I forgot I impaled him in the heart with Assassin, so I figured I was stuck with Lancer to carry out the last message. My bad.

I ended the dream chapter talking about Emiya's promise to Rin. I consider that the reason why he remained a Heroic Spirit – he had a goal, to honor her. And I honestly think he's the most heroic of them all for that.

(Other than Caster, who was the dick who caused all of this) I chose these Heroic Spirits because if the Holy Grail was corrupt and falling apart at the seems, the first to fall out would be trans-dimensional beings, or spirits the grail has a generally difficult keeping grasp of: No-Name Assassin was chosen for that very fact of her illusive persona: Heroic Spirit Emiya because he was the guardian of another reality: Lancer because he swore to never be summoned again: Dr. Jekyll because he claimed to wander time and space itself within the grail: Ramses II because he is from an event in a parallel world: and Mordred because she was impaled by Rhongomyniad.

I reference a boar in the chapter "The Pursuit_"_: this is a direct reference to the legend of Diarmuid, as he was wounded (and ultimately killed) by a boar.

Another reference to Diarmuid's legend comes from the idea of indirectly killing Caster. That's why his ominous "final mission" warning was such a trigger for her.

I chose indigo to be Kazumi's mana color because it is the symbol of compassion in the DC universe. I'm a comics buff before I'm anything else.

"The Greatest Story Never Told" is the same title of a_ Justice League Unlimited_ episode where the audience follows Booster Gold, a seemingly unheard-of hero as he literally saves the world but no one cares to listen to him. I pulled this final update from that idea.

I have an aunt named Mordred. Not an Easter Egg forsay, but a stupid fact nonetheless XP

The chapter titled "Smoke and Mirrors" gets its name from an Imagine Dragons song.

Rider is introduced as being indifferent to this era and its problems, but in the series he's in, he's really critical and claims he should be the ruler of Earth no matter the era and sets out to do so; I'd like to think that these events subconsciously impacted him for the better, so he gained that opinion.

Some of the chapters have weird words for their titles: Ruckkenrunruhe, Enouement, Onism, Veritas, Nodus Tollens, and (false) Liberosis mean various fascinating things. I suggest you look them up. For example, Ruckkenrunruhe is German for the "feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness".

I'm not gonna lie, I had no intention of writing this all out, as it was originally just a one-shot. My original idea was actually that Archer was out and about doing his heroic duty, and this all was going to have nothing with the Holy Grail. Everything stemmed from the idea of Rhio Aias being lost after his fight with Lancer in _Unlimited Blade Works_, and the protagonist was going to happen across it. I wrote the first three and the last two chapters before I actually came up with her brothers and the actual plot.

Just if it wasn't clear, the implication is that Kazumi cut off her own hand as she was kinda stuck to Caster's face.

Having studied _Oedipus Rex_, I consider Takao to be the focus point of this write, and the drama is an aftermath of his events. I chose his name because it means "hero," as he's really the hero of the story.

I like to pretend that it was Takao that walks pass Emiya in the Epilogue episode of _Unlimited Blade Works._

Believe it or not, this is designed to be an [insert yourself here] type of story – that's partly why it's written in the first person narrative. Kazumi is a unisex name that can mean anything from "one", "beautiful," or "peace", to which the story is meant to bring out the best in every individual. That comes from me being trained in counseling, and a major theme that we try to connect people to is the idea that every soul is beautiful and thus worthwhile. I chose to lean towards the female aspect simply because I myself am… well, female

That being said, I never clearly state what sex our character is into: read between the lines a little bit and you'll see she's "turned on" but not necessarily into everyone

* * *

Berserker's Expressions – I THINK these were all of them, but I'm sure I missed a few. I didn't include the Morse/Tap code, but you're welcome to look those ones up. If you still have questions, lemme know and I'll add them to the list:

"Deus et natua non faciunt frusta." (God and nature do not work together in vain)

"Clarere audere gaudere." ([be] bright, daring, joyful)

"Fui quod es, eris quod sum." (I once was what you are, you will be what I am)

"Verba ita sunt intelligenda ut res magis valeat quam pereat." (When explaining a given subject, it is important to clarify rather than confuse)

"Veritas Lux Mea." (The truth enlightens me / The truth is my light)

"Mea anima est cum te. Nostra animae sunt cum vobis." (My heart is with you. Our hearts are with you all.)

"Cuius testiculos habeas, habeas cardia et cerebellum." (When you have them by the balls, the heart and mind will follow)

"O diem praeclarum!" (Oh, what a beautiful day!)

"Quid Fit?" (What's Happening?)

"Nos morituri te salutant!" (We, who are about to die, salute you)

"Tempus fugit" (Time disappears)

"Meliora Cogito" (I strive for the best)

"Verba ita sunt intelligenda ut res magis valeat quam pereat" (When explaining a given subject, it is important to clarify rather than confuse)

"Amicitiae nostrae memoriam spero sempiternam fore" (I hope that the memory of our friendship will be everlasting)

**Now, I have one final request. Please let me know if you enjoyed this story! What you liked, what you didn't like! Honestly, any comment. I love getting comments and I spent a LOT of time here, and I can only hope that you all enjoyed it as much as I did****.**

Lots of love,

Betweenthetights

PS – Someone planted the seed for a part two. So if you all enjoyed it enough, let me know and I may put it into practice!


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